The Performer
by Dracannia
Summary: Prowl is given a case to search down suspects of murder. One suspect, he finds, is a local dancer who seems to have the hots for him. Prowl x Jazz, Mech/mech, AU-ish
1. Chapter 1

Wait a minute... I'm eighteen now... That means I can write dirty fics! I had always told myself nt to put up anything 18+ when I myself was not even eighteen. Have a Jazz x Prowl fic! It's mostly AU. It's like a Prime, Bay, G1 blend. I can't choose. So AU!

* * *

Chapter I

_"Three weeks ago, a mech named Jumpspring was found dead near the Upsilon-5 grid. A shot through the head and a cut about four inches deep straight into his spark chamber is what killed him. He didn't have a chance. From what we've found, Jumpspring was working undercover for the Department of Global Security, investigating a case involving the black market. The DGS hasn't told us anything, as usual. But they've given us a list of suspects to track down and find who might have killed him. There are ten of them. One disappeared off the entire Grid recently. Here's a picture of him, coming out of a night club a few nights ago, the red one there, Spitfire. The white one next to him, he's a regular at the club, I believe. He's the last one known who's talked to Spitfire and he's listed as a suspect too. And because he goes to the club on a regular basis, I've had to go through quite a few profiles of our boys to find out who's qualified for this case. That's why I've picked you, Prowl. You don't get easily distracted by such vulgar scenes in night clubs. The others… Yeah, that's why I picked you. I want you to find this white mech and take him in for questioning. I don't care if you have to flirt with him; just get his aft in my interrogation room. I want to find out what happened to Spitfire. Good luck, officer."_

* * *

In Prowl's eyes, it was an overall embarrassing mission. He never doubted Sheriff Surge before, but there was always room for a first time. Prowl had not been to any night clubs in vorns. He could not remember the last time he had gone, but he was sure it was back in his academy days. It was not a good experience either. Luckily it was something he managed to forget. But now here was Surge, shoving him back into the last place he had ever wanted to be on this planet; into some shady, dim-lit bar filled with drunken mechs trying to get a piece of aft from the entertainment for the night. He looked at himself, wondering if he should scrub off some of the uniform paint of a law enforcer. People, guilty or innocent, were always wary whenever an officer entered a bar, especially a place that was likely to hold black market vendors. He remembered being a sparkling and thinking the enforcer down the street was going to arrest him for no good reason as he kicked a ball around with his friends.

The work period was ending and the lights across Praxus went dim. Many people were still scurrying the roads, enjoying the nightlife. Others went home and locked up, unknown of what might happen to them should they even attempt to go out after dark. Carris shoved their children inside, much to the kids' protestings. Prowl caught a few grins on faces, knowing they would be up to something soon in the safety of the dark. Most officers would go over and "have a friendly chat", as Surge would put it. But Prowl, while on duty, would only confront people in such a way if he _knew _they had done something wrong, not when he suspected they were _going_ to do something. All he had to do to keep people from doing anything was look at them and stand at a good distance for a sizable amount of time. Amateur criminals would do absolutely nothing while being watched by a mech with a badge. Under normal circumstances, like a routine patrol, Prowl would have stuck around to intimidate those hiding and smirking in the back alleys. But he had an assignment and he would see it fulfilled tonight.

The establishment was called Blue Ring. A pounding bass could be heard from it only a street away and every time the doors slid open there was the sound of a crowd. Blue Ring was busy tonight. Prowl took a deep breath before he walked in, gaining confidence. He strolled inside as if he owned the place, back erect and helm high. He surveyed the place to get the overall mood of it, to feel a little familiar. The cylindrical format; the tall structure supporting a balcony for those who wanted a bird's eye view; the lack of lighting at the tables to keep the attention at the center where the dancers spun and twisted; and down to the doors that led into other rooms, both on the bottom and top floors. Prowl suspected those were either private rooms for the customers or living quarters for the dancers, or both. He knew some places required their employees to live where they worked, to keep a close eye on them and avoid anything happening to them. At Blue Ring, the officer could see why they wanted their dancers under surveillance. They moved like professionals, eloquent and beastly, riling their spectators. Primus forbid their beautiful money-makers get hurt. Prowl found himself a little turned on by the show, then remembered he had a job to do and looked around for the white mech Surge had mentioned.

Some stared at him as he walked by, hoping this law enforcer would not find some evidence that their favorite night club was illegal and shut it down. Prowl walked up the stairs to the balcony, thinking he could get a better view of the crowd from above and keep watch on those of the second floor. But the outer areas of the bottom floor could not be seen. After doing a quick sweep he walked back down and found an empty table for two by the wall. He tried to focus as the crowd kept shifting, only portrayed as dark shadows moving here and there. He could not even tell between paint jobs. The minute he thought one mech's color was a blue he would step out into the light and find it was green.

_I swear this place was created just for the purpose of teasing officers_ he thought, rubbing his fingers against his helm. The lighting was dark, the people were indistinguishable, the place was large, and there was a chance his suspect was hiding in one of the private rooms. He only had a warrant for an arrest, though, not a search warrant. He was only allowed to survey the immediate area, nothing behind closed doors. He should have been more thorough in his application for a permit otherwise he would not have this issue.

The lights on the stage darkened a bit and the dancers stepped down. Prowl knew they were not closing just yet. It was too early in the night for that. He saw a shadow move onstage, the main event, and it posed, waiting for the spotlight. The lights turned back on and Prowl nearly jumped out of his seat.

It was the white mech.

The music started slow and the mech moved, taunting his audience. People moved closer to get a better look. The mech twisted to the slow entrancing beat in a way that had the onlookers hungry for more. Even Prowl could admit he was impressed by the mech's flexibility. The beat sped up and the mech's movements became more violent, getting the crowd to cheer. The lights flashed different colors to compliment the dance. For a while Prowl was spellbound to the show. He shook his head to focus on the fact that the one he needed to take in for questioning had the most attention of the club. He would have to lure him somewhere else to not cause a scene.

After he strategized how he going to get the dancer out of Blue Ring, the music shifted to another song. The white mech moved slowly to get accustomed to the song. He moved away from the center, towards the audience, and bent to tease with one of his admirers. But he never moved off the stage. Once the spectator reached for him, he pulled back to his designated spot on the platform to find another person to tease. It took all of Prowl's will to walk closer to the stage, to try and gain the mech's attention somehow. But he was unfamiliar in how to do that and there were too many people in his way. They no longer paid attention to the loitering officer but to the dancing mech onstage. As luck would have it, the white mech caught Prowl's optic.

The officer studied him. A ground vehicle; never meant to be flexible. This dancer, judging by how young he looked, had been trained his whole life to be bendable in order to please the customers. There had been situations where sparklings were left abandoned on the streets to be picked up by strangers. The owner of Blue Ring probably found him and trained him to be his perfect performer. The mech had only a blue visor to cover his optics, making him a bit mysterious. But his grins and smiles gave away his thoughts. He was reveling in the spotlight, enjoying teasing the people, letting them think they had him only to be turned down in front of everybody. He was the pride and joy of Blue Ring.

When Prowl was caught in his line of sight, the mech grinned and his visor flashed, a sign of interest. Prowl, wanting to keep the attention, smiled back. For the rest of the dance, the mech kept himself in Prowl's view. If someone stepped in front of the officer, the mech moved to another part of the stage. He kept optical contact the entire time, dancing only for Prowl. The moves were elegant and erotic, sliding across the stage, wrapping around the pole and grinding. Prowl could feel his fans whirring to life as he tried to keep a calm composition. The mech could see his hull expanding and constricting, knowing he had his target hooked to him. The other mechs below him tried to draw his attention, but the white mech ignored them. He was too focused on this newcomer to even give a slag. Even to those who were shouting suggestions and amounts of money they would give if he could spare a night for them.

The third song ended and the white mech moved off the stage. Prowl's intakes hitched as he noticed the dancer was moving towards him, waving away anyone who tried to divert him from the officer. The officer forced himself to focus once again. He had an assignment and it was this mech, this entertainer. He needed to draw him out without a fuss, so he needed to act. As the white dancer came closer, the corner of his mouth turned up and he dimmed his optics, a suggestive motion for him. The white dancer smiled back, revealing a bright set of denta. Two inches from the enforcer, the white mech put his hands on his shoulders, slowly moving closer to wrap his arms around Prowl.

"You must be new here, sweetspark. I'd have noticed you if you were here before," he murmured. He stroked the back of Prowl's helm, inviting further conversation.

"Just taking a break from work," he said. "There's more excitement here than in the streets tonight. Especially with someone like you to perform."

The white mech's engine growled approvingly. "You've got a name?"

"Officer Prowl."

"Officer Prowl… Now _that's _a name for the spotlight."

"What about you? What's your name?"

"Jazz."

"That's got a nice ring."

"And it's not a stage name, either." Jazz stepped closer, pressing their chassis together. He smirked when he heard Prowl try and muffle the sound of his vents skipping a cycle. "Wanna go back to my room, officer? It's a nice, cozy place on the second floor. You can even see the Helix Gardens from the window. It's real pretty at night."

Prowl calculated. If he went to Jazz's room, he would have to cuff him there and walk back out with a dancer restrained. Primus only knew if Jazz would put up a fight and cause a scene to get people to help him. If he asked him to go back to his own place then the dancer might turn him down and find someone else to flirt with. He chose the former decision. Besides, he had a legal permit.

"Sounds like a perfect spot for you and me."

Jazz giggled and kissed Prowl on the cheek. He unhooked his arms from behind Prowl's helm and took his hand.

"This way, officer." The light on one side of Jazz's visor flickered in a wink. He dragged him to the upper floor, waving to some of the waiters and other dancers as they passed by. Some of them smirked at Prowl, fully knowing of what was about to happen. Jazz walked up to a door and tapped in a code. The door slid open and Jazz took both of Prowl's hands to forcefully pull him inside. The door slid and locked behind him. The room was a light pink with a bit of blue mixed into it. A berth big enough for three had padding on it for comfort. A part of the wall opposite from them had transparent double doors that slid apart onto a balcony to gaze out into the cityscape. Near the horizon was the crystalline orchard of Praxus, the Helix Gardens, glimmering in starlight.

Jazz threw himself against Prowl, ghosting his hands over his frame and stroking the sensitive glass of the headlights. The officer's engine, without his consent, hummed in lust. He forgot his duties for a moment, taking in the sweet look on Jazz's face and the feeling on his chassis. The white mech purred.

"I haven't done it with an officer for a while," he said seductively. Prowl's optics slightly widened at that. So others of his department had been here? Jazz saw it but misinterpreted his reaction. "What's the matter, afraid you're gonna get caught? You're the law, babe. You can do whatever you want with me…"

Prowl noted for later he would have to weed out some of his friends to make sure they had not cheated on their spark mates with the dancers of Blue Ring. For now he played along, trying to remember his assignment and keep a poker face at the same time. He moved awkwardly, putting his hands on Jazz's hips. The white mech chuckled at the hint of his nervousness and obligingly put his hands on Prowl's face.

"Don't be shy, sweetie. Take a bash at it."

The only thing Prowl could do was move forward, and it led into a kiss. He could not remember the last time he had kissed someone but it was not anything like this. Jazz moaned into it, pressing his glossa against the officer's lips to get inside his mouth. Prowl, uncertainly, separated them, enough for Jazz to force his way through and glide across his glossa. Prowl's interface panel heated at the intrusion. The white mech holding him put a hand at the back of his neck to jam further into his mouth, relishing the taste.

But Prowl still had a job to do. The officer took both of Jazz's hands and moved them down, breaking the kiss. He turned them around and pinned Jazz to the wall. The dancer laughed.

"So eager! What're you gonna do, officer? Cuff me?"

In his best law-enforcing voice, Prowl said, "Turn around."

Jazz purred and slowly spun around to press against the wall, raising his aft to Prowl's panel, obviously unaware of the situation.

"Hands behind your back."

"You're a little bossy," Jazz chirped as he did as he was told. In a second, Prowl took a pair of cuffs from his subspace and locked them onto Jazz's wrists. "Hey! Not so tight!"

"Jazz, you're under arrest."

"Wow, you're really going all out with this, aren't you?"

"You're a suspect of murder and a possible accomplice of one named Spitfire."

Jazz's visor flashed. "Hold up, so this is real? I'm really getting arrested?"

"You're being taken in for questioning."

"Son of a glitch…" He leaned his helm against the wall. "And after all of that foreplay, too. You're a buzzkill, Prowl."

xXx

TBC... Feed me your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Jazz was seated in a standard gray room in front of the table with his hands still cuffed behind his back. He looked around the room. He spotted the security camera in the corner and smiled, clicking his denta flirtatiously. On the wall was a two-way mirror. He looked at it into his reflection and smiled, hoping Prowl was on the other side.

Prowl was there, but he did not smile back. He had no feelings for Jazz beyond lust. Next to him was the green and yellow Sheriff Surge, both of them looking at the dancer in the room. Surge crossed his arms and let out a cycle of air.

"You're sure it's him?"

"Want me to go in there and ask?"

"You're a good officer, Prowl. You've never failed me before."

"Then this is our mech."

Surge rubbed his helm. "But an exotic dancer? Our suspect is a dancer?!"

"Evidently so."

The sheriff sighed. "I'm going in there first. After what you told me about what happened at Blue Ring, you're going to distract him from giving information."

Prowl blushed but kept his expressionless appearance. Surge opened the door to the interrogation room and locked it shut behind him. Jazz looked at him and frowned, disappointed that it was not who he was expecting. Surge moved to the other end of the table and sat down, studying Jazz for a few seconds before speaking.

"What's your name, son?"

"First off, I ain't anybody's 'son'. Second, who's asking?"

"My name is Sheriff Surge—"

"Heh. Try saying that five times fast."

"—and that attitude's not going to get you anywhere."

Jazz leaned back comfortably. "I'm not scared off you, Sheriff. I didn't do anything."

"Last month a mech was killed, his name was Jumpspring. He was working undercover for the Department of Global Security."

"My condolences."

"Stop interrupting me." He pulled forth a data pad. "I have here nine names and a un-sub of who might have killed him. The DGS wanted me to find out who the un-sub was and take him in for questioning. The un-sub was photographed with another suspect named Spitfire walking out of Blue Ring." He moved his fingers across the data pad to pull up the photo file and slid it across the desk to Jazz. Jazz leaned forward for a better look and bit his lower lip. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, but it's not a very good picture. Look at it; it makes me look fat."

"Spitfire disappeared about two days ago, completely blown off the Grid."

"So you think _I_ know where he is?"

"Do you?"

"He said he was on the run, but that's about it."

Surge leaned back in his chair. "So you didn't kill Jumpspring?"

"I've never killed a single mech in my life!"

"It was just a question, Jazz. What's your relationship with Spitfire?"

"He's a customer, okay? I get a variety of them. Artists, scientists, data clerks, medics, criminals, even cops."

"Business then?"

"Purely business."

"Did he say anything else to you?"

"Will it help me out of these cuffs?"

"It depends."

"Then me giving information to you _depends_ on your customer service around here, and frankly it sucks."

Surge growled and stood up. "You're gonna be here a while, son." He walked by, grabbing his data pad off of the table. Jazz smirked.

Prowl looked at the sheriff and stiffened. He had seen Surge angry before and it was never pretty. Once he had thrown a mech across the room. It did not kill him, but he had to stay in the hospital for a few months.

"Sir?"

"You have my permission. Knock him around for me while I take a pill for this headache..." Surge handed him the data pad.

Prowl walked into the room. Jazz did not look at him, thinking it was another officer he could mess with. Once he saw the familiar black and white painting, his engine purred.

"You're back, lover," he said. "I thought you'd left me to that mean Mr. Surge." He fidgeted in the chair. "You mind getting these cuffs off of me? They itch a little."

"If I un-cuff you then you won't keep your hands to yourself."

Jazz smirked. "I'll be good. Promise."

"The answer's still no."

Jazz clicked his tongue as Prowl walked over to the other side of the table, reading the files of the data pad, pretending not to be interested in his suspect. He sat down and put the data pad on the table, staring at Jazz and studying him. Usually people were scared in this situation, whether they were innocent or guilty. Jazz sat here with a triumphant grin on his face. His breathing was cycled slow and evenly, not even forced. He was completely comfortable.

"Have you been here before?" Prowl asked him.

"I've been cuffed with just me and another in a room before. The lighting was better, though." He smiled.

Prowl was amused but he would not show it. "How'd you get involved with Blue Ring?" Jazz's smiled dropped, and he knew he was not going to get an answer. "People who work at clubs usually have failed their prior occupation. You're a ground vehicle, so judging by your flexibility you've been trained to move in near impossible ways. Were you a spy before? Or maybe you were from the circus. I've only known spies and carnies to be that flexible." The corner of Jazz's mouth curled into a snarl. Prowl lowered his voice. "Or maybe you're an illegal spark."

"Shut up," the white mech hissed.

"You were born and raised to dance in front of people, weren't you? They trained you to be a prostitute since you were a sparkling."

"I said shut up!"

Prowl closed his mouth with a half-smile on his face. Jazz's optics narrowed behind the visor. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get you mad. I'm just learning about you."

"What the slag for? I didn't do anything."

"No, but I'd like to know my partners before I work with them."

Jazz's visor flicked and his snarl went away. "Wait, what?"

"Your customers talk to you. How else would you know what they do for a living? They'll talk to you because they trust you, they'll give their secrets to you and you can just sit there listening as they pour their lives out _to you_." He grabbed the data pad and walked over next to him. "Look, we've got nine suspects. Nine names and faces. They won't be found anywhere the police are going to be. They'll be found at places like your home, at back alley clubs."

"So you're offering me a job?

"A side job. You'll even get a temporary badge."

"Does the sheriff know about this?"

"Of course he does."

Behind the glass, Surge's anger rose up. What was Prowl up to? Giving some hooker a badge? Next he might even give him a certified gun.

"There's a catch though, huh?" Jazz groaned.

"There's always a catch. At some point during this assignment you might be faced in a situation like this, but next time it won't be the police holding you. You'll have to figure your way out of this room and to the front of the building without anyone catching or noticing you."

"Well, you said I had the skills of a spy."

"Now live up to it. I'll be waiting outside."

"What if it takes me all night?"

"I'll drink some mid-grade to wake myself up. Do we have a deal?"

Jazz sighed and looked away in thought. Here he was in cuffs, shackled to the chair, and the police officer he seduced was giving him a job as a spy. Fate definitely has a sense of humor.

"Do I get paid?"

"Once the mission's done."

He turned his head, slightly tilting it to examine Prowl. The officer stared back, trying to determine Jazz's decision before he said it. It was hard to figure out what he was thinking behind that visor.

The white mech muttered in a whisper, so soft that Surge could barely hear him through the microphone. "How do you know I won't turn on you?"

"Because, foolishly, and like every one of your customers, I trust you."

Jazz smiled, showing off his denta. "You've got yourself a deal, officer."

"Good."

"One more thing, though."

"Yeah?"

"Don't I get a good night kiss?"

Prowl did not blink. "If you're caught then we're going to charge you for resisting arrest. Good luck, Jazz." He walked towards the door.

"Hey, wait! Aren't you gonna let me out of these cuffs?!" The door slid shut and locked. He huffed. "Apparently not."

Surge grabbed Prowl by the shoulders and pinned him against the wall, knocking out the air from him.

"What in the Pit do you think you're doing?!" he shouted.

"I'm hiring Jazz to be an undercover cop."

"Without my permission!"

"I'll take full responsibility of him! He can help us, sir. We've got nine people under suspicion of a murder. Nine! I'm hiring him as my partner. He's more qualified than any other officer in this building, and you know it. But I can't do it alone."

Surge's yellow optics turned white in anger. Prowl held his breath, expecting to be thrown across the hall like the last mech who crossed him. But slowly the sheriff let go of him and backed away. He raised a finger at him.

"Once. Just this once, Prowl. I trust you."

"Thank you, sir."

Surge looked through the two-way mirror. Jazz was sitting there, staring at the wall, slumped down in his seat. He was planning his escape, no less, or was just going to sit there until someone came and got him out.

"You're really going to spend the night outside the building?" he asked incredulously.

"No. My shift's over. I'll tell Ricochet to keep an optic out while he's sitting out there. I'm going home and recharging. Call me as soon as he finds his way out."

Surge chuckled. "See you tomorrow, Prowl."

"Sheriff."

xXx

Sassy Jazz is best Jazz.


	3. Chapter 3

I wanted to get something done today. This was not part of the plan.

* * *

Chapter III

Jazz sat for an hour in the room. At first he thought of Prowl, how fun it was going to be to mess with him. He had been around mechs like him before and it was fun to get them irritated because he knew they would not do anything to him. Who could hurt a pretty face like his? Then he thought about how the officer was able to deduce him down to an illegal spark, trained to dance. The illegal spark part was true. But it would be a while before he admitted where he came from.

He shut his optics for a while, pretending to be sleeping. If he stayed still then the person watching from the camera would get bored, ignore him and find some other monitor to stare at. He concentrated, visualizing the room for any way out. The vent was too small for him to climb through. The glass would make a sound if he was ever able to break it, which he knew he could not because he did not know how thick or thin it would be. The door was his only chance. He opened his optics and glanced at it to see how it opened. Praise Primus; it opened by a code, not by digit printing. He just had to have the right code. That part was easy. He learned to recognize sounds at a young age. He already had the code when Surge and Prowl both punched it in.

_Now to get these slaggin' cuffs off me_. He closed his optics again to focus, feeling the stasis cuffs locked unto his wrists. These were a new brand of cuffs. They were designed to lock onto anything that radiated energy and right now it was reading Jazz's. Old cuffs had a code imprinted to them the same way the door had a code to unlock them. To Jazz the newer cuffs were easier. He breathed slowly, so slowly that his diagnostics blared at him to gather more of the atmosphere for proper cycling. He ignored it, trying to slow the energy flow. The cuffs could read energy at a certain spark-beat per minute and he had to make his lower than its standard. Within ten agonizing minutes the cuffs clicked, expanded, and fell off his wrists.

He took in a deep breath, enough to make his hull expand twice its size. "I almost killed myself," he chuckled. He looked at the camera. By now the watchmech was bored and looking at something else. He stood up, grabbed his chair, and walked over under the camera. He stood on the chair and toyed with the camera from behind, rewinding the tape back to when he was pretending to be sleeping, then playing the loop. All the watchmech could see now from his feed was a five-second loop of Jazz sitting there sleeping in his chair.

"That ought to keep 'em busy for an hour," he muttered, smiling at his success. He hopped off the chair and strutted to the door, humming the musical tone of the code on the door. He punched in the code and the door slid open. He looked down the end of the hall. No one was walking past, but he knew there had to be at least one other camera pointing at this doorway. He spotted it across from him, mounted to the wall, and he blew a kiss at it before making his way down the hall. If he walked right out then there was a chance that Surge would catch him. And if he was caught then he would spend more time in the department building until they let him go. His boss would not be happy. Jazz was the main money-maker of Blue Ring. Once he had spent a week at another mech's house, providing his entertainment for free. Boy was the boss pissed…

He found the restroom and was lucky it had been empty. Looking around he saw another vent, this time big enough for him to squeeze through. Being light-weight had its advantages, for Jazz was able to leap up to the top of the stall with the grace of a cat and pull out the vent screen to wiggle through. He coughed as it came loose, blowing dust in his face. "Dear Primus, you guys need some maintenance done." He climbed through, slowly making his way into the vent, not exactly sure where he was going. He followed his gut. From past experiences, he knew to trust his instinct, even if the choice seemed ridiculous or even impossible.

The vents were noisy if he moved too fast. He crawled painfully slow through the system, careful not to make a sound. He kept his breathing deep, even, and quiet. He often advised himself in many different situations "Do you want it done fast or do you want it done right?" But this was the worst test of his patience he had ever gone through since he was a youngling.

His mind wandered, as it often did when he was bored, thinking of his earlier encounter with Prowl. Jazz liked getting attention, but he liked it even better when people pretended they were not interested. Prowl was just standing in the back of the crowd, eyeing him like he knew him from somewhere. Of course, he must have been determining if he was his suspect or not. Still, Jazz fantasized. The audience begged for his attention when Jazz practically demanded it. Those who did not even blink an optic at him he was most interested in. And when he walked up to Prowl, getting him to notice him more, egging him on and teasing him… That was the only time Jazz had seen him smile, for the first time that he met him, and it was fake. That did not matter to him because the kiss definitely was not fake. He felt the pulse of electricity, the desire to have more of him, to take him. Prowl wanted him, and Jazz would have easily obliged.

He snapped back to reality, realizing his cooling fans had turned on and he blushed with inner embarrassment. He tried to think about other things, of how exactly he would get the nine suspects to talk to him. He would have to act like he was not undercover, which he was good at. He could definitely act; it was like a second nature. He could put on a fake dazzling smile and force a laugh and a moan. It was to get his customers' money and possibly and extra tip. This time, though, he would be doing it to help the police. Maybe he would get a clean record with the Praxus Law Enforcement. Maybe even help out another case where he would put himself in danger for the safety of others. A sense of adventure rose in him: To be an actual spy with some honest money. Perhaps he could quit his dancing job and work with Prowl.

Underneath he heard the shuffling of data pads and tapping on keyboards; the quiet work night of the department. They were probably too busy to listen to the light patter above their heads to even care that a suspect escaped the interrogation room. He looked for any sign that he was close to the edge of the building and caught sight of a window. He smirked. It took a while, but it was easy to get out of this place.

"How long has he been in there?"

Hearing Surge's voice made his intakes hitch and he froze, trying to keep away from the vent screen below him and shut his optics so no one could see his glowing visor. Did Surge know he was gone?

"Four hours since you and Prowl last saw him," said a different voice, probably the watchmech monitoring the cameras. Four hours? That's how long it took to bust out?

"And he's just been sitting there?"

"I hadn't seen him move."

"Probably sleeping. I'll check on him just to be sure."

Surge walked away. Jazz chuckled silently. Oh, if only he could see Surge's face when he realized he was not there anymore.

When Surge did enter the room, he just about blew a diode, punching a shallow hole into the wall. The cuffs were on the ground, the chair against the opposite wall, and a few wires dangling from the camera.

"He's tricked us. For all we know, he could've left right when Prowl walked out! You!" He pointed to an officer. "Rewind and check the camera. I want to find out where he's gone!" _Let's make this difficult on him. _The young officer checked the recording and reported that their suspect had somehow unlocked his cuffs and rewired the camera to play a loop. Surge chuckled.

"You don't learn tricks like that at a show bar, that's for sure," he muttered, then asked the officer, "Where did he go?"

"The camera across the hall caught him going into the restrooms, sir."

"The only spot that can't be monitored. Ironhide, come with me."

Jazz knew he had to move faster. He crawled over into an empty room and kicked down the vent screen, jumped down and looked at where he was. It was a storage room, full of evidence. Maybe there was something in here he could use. He found a half-empty can of black paint and applied a few stripes of it over his chassis. He thought he would have to kill Prowl for having him go through this, especially when he had to cover up his beautiful signature paint. The paint was the least of his problems. Running into an officer that would recognize him now that Surge was on the move was his top fear at the moment. He sat for a while, waiting for the paint to dry, looking around at the other boxes full of miscellaneous stuff to be used or were already used in court case.

Once he was sure the paint was dry, he walked out. The closest desk he saw had a stack of data pads on it. He grabbed an armful to look like he was some busy intern and waltzed by the entire Praxus police force. He kept an optic out for Surge. Thankfully the sheriff was angry enough that he could hear his booming voice from thirty feet away. He weaved around officers scrambling to find their missing suspect, grinning to himself. Once he made it to the front door he took one last look at a security camera and blew a kiss at it. He dropped the data pads, transformed, and raced back to Blue Ring.

xXx

I believe that Ironhide was a cop before the war, if anything else. With a big trusty blaster gun named the Big Bad Mamma-Jamma.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Prowl arrived to work and half expected Jazz to be jumping out and yelling him for leaving him with "mean Mr. Surge" for the whole night. Instead, an officer came up to him to explain that Jazz had escaped last night, and Surge wanted him to know that he, even though he was furious at him, approved of Jazz being his temporary partner for the case. Prowl took off to find him, and there was no place he could think of looking for the white mech other than at Blue Ring. A bright neon sign on the door said they were closed for the day, not that it really mattered to him. He tried to see if there was someone inside but the windows were too high up for him to see. That was usually how clubs were, hardly any windows so no one gets a free show, and to censor anything from innocent sparklings that might be strolling down the street with their parents.

He knocked on the door. Half a minute later a blue mech opened the door, possibly the janitor. Prowl held out his badge.

"May I come in?"

"Sure thing, officer," said the mech. Normally he would not allow anyone inside, but he knew never to refuse a badge. Prowl walked in and turned to the mech.

"Did Jazz come home last night?"

"I beg pardon?"

"Jazz, the star attraction."

"He disappeared last night. He was probably with a customer. It varies when he comes back home, but he always makes it before the next night. To answer your question, no, I didn't see him come in." The mech shifted, a bit nervous to be talking to an officer.

"Any idea where he might be?"

"I saw him leave with a black and white mech, looked something like you, but I can never tell people in the dark light. If he ever came back in then it wasn't during my shift."

"Would you call his room for me just in case?"

"Sure thing." The blue mech walked behind one of the bars and pressed a button on a keypad. He spoke into a microphone. "Jazz, are you in?" A few seconds passed before he got an answer.

"_I'm here, warden. What's up?_"

"There's an officer here looking for you."

"_Is it Prowl?_"

The mech looked at the officer and Prowl nodded.

"Yeah, it's him."

"_Send him up._"

The mech turned to Prowl. "You know where his room is?"

"I do. Thanks."

Prowl took a good look around as he walked up the stairs. All of the lights were on, real standard lights. Not the dark colored lights where one could hardly tell one shape from the other, but actual lighting to see every design and corner of the building. It did not look as enchanting. He walked up to Jazz's door and before he could knock it slid open. Jazz leaned against the doorframe, one hand on his hip.

"You ditched me," he said.

"Wasn't my shift."

"Slag it wasn't. You said you'd wait." Jazz smiled and tugged on his arm. "Get in here, ya stiff." The door closed behind them as Prowl was pulled in. Jazz leaned his back against the wall, arms crossed. Prowl stood still and straight, like a sentinel on guard.

"How long did it take you to escape?"

"A few hours, give or take."

"A few hours?"

"And I had to paint myself to blend in. You have any idea how long it took to get my color back? I had to get scrawny lil' Skyjack to help me out. Lemme tell ya, black is _so _not my color."

"So you got out without a problem."

"Didn't even need help."

"How'd you do it?"

Jazz put a finger to his lips and wore a sly smile. "Can't tell ya that, Prowl. I'll lose my mysteriousness."

Prowl managed a half smile. "Alright, like I promised." He handed Jazz a badge. The white mech studied it, admiring its shine. "It's temporary. Remember that you're undercover."

"What about you?"

"I'll point you to the ones that are on our list. I don't expect you to remember their faces."

Jazz walked closer. "Come now, officer, you're gonna scare away my customers with that black and white shining off of ya." He brushed a digit on his shoulder. "You can't be seen."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"The boss has a security room. Cameras at every corner and crack in the wall. Not a soul does something without him noticing. Not even in the restrooms. Give the guards your list and they'll handle it."

"I don't trust somebody doing my job for me, especially if I don't know them."

Jazz smiled with a flash moving across his visor. "You hardly know me, sugar, but here you are giving me a badge. You kissed me then arrested me. You gave me a chance to escape and made me your partner but you say you can't trust anyone. You're sending me mixed signals, Prowl. I kinda like it." His engine growled in emphasis. Prowl stood back.

"I'm just doing my job."

"With a hooker."

"I'll see you tonight." He walked to the door and tried to punch in a key to opening it. Up came a message: [40C]. He blinked, confused at what it was telling him. "Uh, Jazz?"

"Yes?"

"Your door is charging me forty credits."

Jazz laughed. "That's how we make sure customers don't go without pay! Forty an hour, ten extra each after that. Here, I'll use my code. I get out for free. Don't look; I don't want you cheatin' next time you come in here. You might tell other people, too." He tapped in a string of numbers and the door slid open. "There ya go, sweetie. I'll see ya tonight."

"There's… something I wanted to ask you."

"And what's that?"

"Spitfire. Do you know what he did for a living?"

"He's a poacher," Jazz huffed. "Hunts outside the fence, you know? Sells the fauna on black market."

"Thanks."

"I'll leave my comm. open for ya, sweetie. Now go get some sleep. Might get crazy tonight, you never know."

* * *

Blue Ring was a little less crowded this night. He was able to tell how many people were here, but seeing their colors and faces and features was still pretty difficult to manage. He was able to get clearance from Jazz's boss, whom he still was not allowed to meet in person, and watch over the security cameras. Thankfully they were night-vision so he could finally tell who everyone was.

Each face he analyzed, determining which one was a suspect on his list. He found one named Packrat, a short, orange and grey mech. From the look of him, he was not an ordinary Cybertronian. He did not have wheels, so he was not a ground vehicle, and he did not have wings, so he was not a flyer. What he _did _have was a tail with spikes. Prowl commed Jazz to let him know of Packrat before he went up to perform. Jazz sounded what must have been a groan after he told him what he looked like. Prowl retorted with "I'm sure you've fragged uglier mechs." Jazz chuckled and cut the link. It was his turn to go on.

A few people walked into the club in the late hours, and none of them were fitting the descriptions of the suspects. Prowl decided to hang back and relax, taking over the security room for a while. The other two guards snuck out to get a drink or two and watch Jazz dance live. The officer watched through the night-vision cameras, almost wishing he was near the stage for a better view.

He shook his head. What was he thinking? Jazz was now his partner and he should not be thinking of these things. Sure the mech was pretty, but there was a job to be done. Still he could not resist being impressed by Jazz's flexibility, performing impossible bends and dancing across the stage, teasing his audience. Near the end of the third song, Jazz silently commed him.

"_You had better get your aft to my room once I've got this creep hooked. I'm not touching second base with him._"

"I'll be right behind you, Jazz. Don't worry."

Prowl called for the other two guards to come back to their stations and they replied with groans. He walked out, watching Jazz from afar flirting with Packrat. It was almost funny to watch Jazz, who was already a little under the average height, seduce someone who was probably the shortest mech he had ever seen in his life. Jazz grabbed Packrat in the same way he had grabbed Prowl the night before; by his arm and dragging him upstairs to his room. Prowl followed a safe distance behind, avoiding the crowd, or rather the crowd avoiding _him_. He caught someone whispering to another as he passed by: "Black and white, stay out of sight", which was a code he heard a while ago. Gang members had muttered or shouted it to each other whenever a cop was near, telling them to act natural.

Jazz closed his door, yanking in Packrat by the tail. Prowl stayed by the door a few moments, getting out a pair of cuffs. He knocked and inside he heard Jazz say "Could you get that for me, sweetie?" Packrat replied "Sure" in an accent Prowl wasn't familiar with. The door slid open and Prowl flashed his badge fast enough for Packrat to identify. The orange mech squeaked and backed away before the officer could clamp his wrists down in the cuffs and transformed. _Into a rat_. The beast shifter tried to run past Prowl but he caught him by his tail, his hand getting impaled by the spikes.

"Packrat, you're under arrest," he said painfully, refusing to loosen his grip. He held the rat upside down. Packrat looked at him.

"What'n the Pit for! I ain't done anythin'!"

"You're a suspect to murder of an agent named Jumpspring. Now transform."

"Bite me!"

"I said transform or I'll have to emit a few volts into you to get you to comply."

Packrat glared at him for a few moments, but Prowl was not going to have any of it. He had handled plenty of mechs big and small who were unwilling to follow Prowl's orders. All it took was a quick shock to their t-cog and a swift fix of the cuffs to get them immobilized. Packrat decided not to get shocked and transformed. The officer put on the stasis cuffs.

"I knew there was somethin' funny about him," Jazz said. Packrat hissed at him.

Both Prowl and Jazz escorted him back to the police station and placed him in the interrogation room. Jazz opted to stay with him in the room, to see if he could ease him up a bit and make him comfortable. Prowl opposed and insisted Jazz stay on the other side of the room, far away from Packrat so he would not become a distraction. Jazz stood at the far end of the room, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms.

"Murder, huh?" Packrat spoke up. "I'm a lotta things, but a killer ain't one."

"Where are you from, Packrat?" Prowl asked, looking at his data pad.

"Iacon. I'm an engineer."

"Wrong." Prowl turned his data pad around to reveal a file on the mech in cuffs. "You're from Ankmor, charged with many accounts of trespassing and burglary. You've been behind bars plenty of times but you end up outside after at least a week."

Packrat shrugged. "What can I say? Boys in black can't keep up with me."

"I second that, little mech," Jazz praised. Prowl shot him a glare.

"Don't encourage him." He looked at Packrat. "Ankmor's famous for its chemistry plants. There's been lawsuits against them for contaminating energon supplies that interferes with proper functioning. The orphanage you used to live at, which you disappeared from, put in complaints about how it tampered appropriate development for their kids."

"Did they win? 'Cause I'd like a piece'a that financial pie."

"They messed up your t-cog, didn't they?"

"Obviously! As if I wasn't screwed up enough! Now quit foolin' me; you said I was in for murder."

"Jumpspring." Prowl opened another file, a picture of a blue and white mech. "He worked for the DGS. He was on a case when he was shot dead."

"Never met 'im."

"Come now, sugar," Jazz piped up again. "If you're nice we'll let you go, no problems."

"'Cept that you know I escaped jail."

"And I know you can do it again, so what's the point? Maybe we'll get to meet each other again after this." He smacked his lips in a kiss.

Packrat's optics blinked and he looked at Prowl. "Where'n the frag did ya pick up _this_ minx from!"

"They literally dragged me out of Blue Ring to help with the case."

Packrat laughed. "The cops're usin' a fraggin' hooker to solve a case!"

Prowl interrupted. "So you don't know anything about Jumpspring?"

"Just what ya've told me. He was a badge who got killed an' I'm accused of murderin' 'im."

"You and eight others."

"Nine if you count me," Jazz chirped. "Proved me innocent, though."

Before Prowl could say anything, Surge commed him. "_Prowl! Get your aft in my office, and bring Jazz._"

"Yes sir. Jazz, we've got to go. Get comfy, Packrat. I'm not through with you yet."

"Aye aye, skipper."

Before they walked out of the room, Jazz leaned in close to Packrat's face and said "They beefed up security around here because of me. I got out in five hours from this room. Showed them the weak spots of this place. You'd have to be a trained cyber-ninja to get out now."

"You doubt me, sweetspark." Packrat winked.

"See ya on the other side, rodent."

Packrat stuck out his tongue to the camera as the door slid closed. Jazz put his arms behind his head and kicked Prowl lightly in the leg.

"What?" Prowl growled in annoyance.

"A few more seconds late and I would've kissed that freak."

"Good thing I came in when I did."

"Please tell me the other suspects are cuter."

"There's one called Highroad. Red with purple lightning tattoos."

"Sounds like a kid."

"Practically is."

Prowl came into Surge's office, who was in the middle of a loud conversation with someone who had just screwed up on a case already by not applying for a search warrant and now the owner of a home was going to sue. Once he was done he looked at the two standing in his office and told them to have a seat. Prowl sat upright in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Jazz hopped over the other and sat sideways.

"What's happenin', Sheriff?" Jazz said. Surge scowled but continued calmly.

"The DGS just sent us another list of suspects for this case."

"Another?" Prowl asked. "But we already have—"

"I know. The list they sent us, they said that was the wrong one. They gave us the right one, ten minutes ago."

"So the suspect I have in custody now is a suspect of a case I'm not even working on?"

"Sort of."

Jazz's visor flickered. "The frag does 'sort of' mean?"

"That list you have now was a list of people Jumpspring wanted to talk to on the case he was working on. They're not suspects, just possible witnesses and informants."

Prowl tilted his head a bit. "I don't follow."

"As I said before, Jumpspring was working on something about the black market. In fact, he was looking for something no one else noticed and was approved to work on the case he designed. He was solo for this. Those were a list of people he was going to talk to. The DGS wants his murder solved but they haven't told me anything about continuing his case. Prowl, you said you already had one of them in custody?"

"I do."

"Ask if he's related to anything black market."

"Ha!" Jazz exclaimed. "I've met a few guys like him, sheriff. It'll take a while before we can get him to talk about anything like that."

"Then I suggest you get to work. I'm giving the murder case to someone else and you two can work on whatever Jumpspring was doing, since you already are familiar with the names and faces."

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

Jazz and Prowl talked about it on the way back to the interrogation room. Jazz was all giddy, saying he felt like a detective. Prowl was just a bit annoyed that the biggest enforcement department on the planet was able to make a little mistake like sending in the wrong list. Jazz told him that it was robotic error and that it was already done, nothing to do about it now, just work on the case. But when they got to the room, the door was wide open. Packrat had managed to open the door, without force as it seemed, and was somewhere in the building, possibly disguised as a rat. Prowl roared.

"_Are you fragging kidding me?!_"

"Wow, he must be a pro," Jazz commented. "I mean, this lock here's the best in business, reads digit prints."

"How was he able to mimic a digit print! There's no way to do that! It's genetic!"

Jazz laughed. Seeing Prowl blow a diode after a reputation of a stern face and doing nothing but hard work was just hilarious.

"He didn't, boss." The white mech pulled out the keyboard from the wall without a problem. It was a tangled mess of wires. "He rewired the keyboard. Used a code."

"He'd have to have the intelligence of a fragging _god_ to do that."

"Then I'd say Primus just escaped custody."

xXx

Packrat's involved with another story I'll be working on. And yeah, he's an impostor of Rattrap, Jersey accented and all.


	5. Chapter 5

I've got, like, three more chapters of this story already typed up and I try to give space in between, but I can't help myself.

* * *

Chapter V

"Well, at least we know one other thing about Spitfire," Jazz said as he sipped down an energon cube. He and Prowl sat in the lobby with a few other night officers.

"And what's that?"

"He didn't kill Jumpspring."

"Your reasoning?"

"Jumpspring wanted to talk to 'im. Why kill the guy who set up a date with you?"

Prowl looked at his cube. He was only halfway finished with it. He was busy adjusting that he was now conducting a case a more qualified investigator should work on. But if Surge thought he could do it, why not take it? It might even serve as a good brain teaser and a test of Jazz's intellect. Once they were done, Jazz might even be recruited as an officer and Prowl would get promoted to detective.

"So who do you wanna talk to next, Prowl? Or do you wanna try to find Packrat again?"

"Packrat's off the Grid. His file says he does that right after he escapes. We won't see him for another year, if we're lucky."

"We ain't exactly got a year."

"That's the big issue. Let's just focus on who's _on _the Grid." He scrolled through his data pad the files of the others on the witness/informants list. "Him." He showed Jazz a picture of a red mech. Jazz leaned in to see it.

"Perceptor?"

"He's helped on cases, mostly ones that involved chemicals. I've met him before, once or twice. He's clean, he's one of the head scientists at Straxus, and he's mild mannered. He'll tell us anything. He's got nothing to hide."

"Not even a little white lie or stealin' medicine from work?"

"Nope. He's spotless."

"I call bullslag on that. No one's _that_ clean, not even some scientist. Bet you one night with me and you'd _have_ to arrest him for something."

Prowl chuckled. "You're terrible sometimes."

Jazz pointed. "Well would you look at that! I actually made you smile! My work's done for today."

* * *

The inside of one of Straxus' research centers was exactly how Jazz had pictured it. The whole place was colored white and it was so bright he had to dim his visor in order to see anything. The only color around were the chemicals and the scientists experimenting them. Computers lined the walls, stacks of data pads were on tables, monitors streamed codes; but what scared Jazz were the voluntary mechs and femmes everywhere. He could not imagine anyone wanting to become a science experiment during their free time when the worst was inevitable.

They walked to the center, to what seemed to be a large generator, filled with electricity spinning so fast that Prowl nearly got a headache from looking at it. At its controls was a red mech, reading and filing data off the monitor.

"Perceptor," Prowl called out as he walked up to him. The red mech turned around and smiled.

"Officer Prowl!" They shook hands. Jazz studied Perceptor, as he did most mechs. He seemed to be a rather calm person. His optics flickered slightly from looking at things too closely, nothing anyone would really notice, a sign of a scholar. From the way he shook Prowl's hand he could tell that the scientist was a solitary person, not involved in a lot of social activity. "It's been a while."

"Definitely has."

"And I know you of all people aren't here simply to chat. I see it in your face. You always look stone cold when working."

"Oh, that's how he always looks, Perce," Jazz said playfully.

"Indeed," Perceptor chuckled. "I'm sorry, I don't think I've met you. Are you Prowl's new partner?"

"Temporary," Prowl cut in before Jazz said something. "We're here on duty. Ever heard of a mech named Jumpspring?"

"Wiry fellow, that one," Perceptor answered. "He said he was working on a case. He spoke to me already. Did he send you?"

"He's dead."

"Oh…" The scientist's optics darkened in sympathy. "My apologies. Uh, how did he…?"

"Murdered. The case was handed down to myself and Jazz." Not wanting to mourn over someone he did not know, he continued quickly. "Did he tell you much about his case?"

"Just the basics of it. He asked if I noticed anything funny and I said there were a few new people, interns, sent in a month ago who were acting… strange."

"Strange how?"

"Just strange. Looking around the room like something was going to attack, hunched over, flinching whenever I addressed them. I figured they were just skittish. Does this have anything to do with the case?"

"It does. Jumpspring was investigating something involved in the black market. He made a list of people he wanted to talk to. You're one of them."

Perceptor's optics had visually flickered as he worked out what was going on. "I see then… He thinks my interns are working in the market."

"We don't know for sure. We just know you're a person he wanted to speak to and I want to know why."

The red mech paused for a second, thinking back to his conversation with the late DGS agent. "There was one other thing he asked me about."

"And?"

"He… mentioned something about bio-weaponry, but that's not my area of expertise. Not many become involved in being able to rearrange their arm into a weapon, save for a few emergency medics. Would that be important?"

"If it is to a DGS agent, it is to us. Thanks for your time, Perceptor."

"Glad to help."

Before they turned away, Jazz leaned in and muttered to him, "I'd keep a closer optic on the interns, just to be safe."

"Well noted."

* * *

The two partners zoomed down the streets in their alt. modes, no destination in mind. Just to roam around and figure something out.

"Perceptor's lab is all on creating alternative ways of energy, not bio-weaponry," Prowl said. "If Jumpspring thought that the interns were doing something involving bio-weaponry then why ask? Why not go to a more experienced mech in that field?"

"Chemicals are chemicals, no matter what," Jazz said. "Don't matter if you use it just to turn on the light, it's going to do _something_ to the body. Maybe they were snooping around for something that goes into the weapons, like the electricity zipping around in that generator."

"You're smarter than your job makes you out to be."

"Aww, shucks."

"Now that we've figured that out, how would Packrat fit into all of this?"

"A thief with a messed up t-cog that turns him into a rat. Beats the slag out of me."

"My guess is he's familiar with the underground. And if he can figure out how to rewire a digit-print reading keypad he could know just about anything. I wish he would've sat still long enough… We could have used him as a spy."

"That was probably what Jumpspring thought too."

"We should move to our next informant."

"My turn to pick!"

"Go ahead."

"Breaker."

"The pathologist?"

"Why not?"

"He does autopsies, Jazz."

"Autopsies. Bio-weapons. Both work on the body."

"I see your point."

"What's the matter?"

"I uh… don't do so well around… dead guys."

"You got a weak tank or somethin'?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Then you can wait outside, ya lightweight."

Which is exactly what Prowl did, though he was nervous about letting Jazz go in alone. There was no telling what sort of trouble he could cause. Then again Jazz knew he had a job to do. Not that he was going to be a professional while doing it. He flirted with a murder suspect, of all people. The white mech told him not to worry and walked into the lab with a straight posture. The door was already open, letting out rotten smells of the deceased, so Jazz knocked on it before walking in and showed off his temporary badge.

"Knock, knock," he said.

Breaker had his hands full, slicing open the chest of a fem who looked as though she had been mangled by an animal. He did not look at Jazz, too focused on his work and not daring to look away should he falter.

"Praxus police," Jazz added. "May I come in?"

"Come on in, officer," Breaker muttered. Jazz analyzed him. Grey was Breaker's choice of body paint, meaning he was too modest about his own looks. From the way he spoke he was a private person, like Perceptor, but even more secluded from society. Not a surprise from someone who worked around the dead. He also refused to look at Jazz during the first part of their conversation. He stood next to him, looking at the poor fem on the table.

"Ouch. What happened to her?"

"Domestic violence turned sour," Breaker said, almost sympathetically for the girl's sake. "Abusive mate. I've already told this story to the police."

"I'm on a different business." He watched with disgusted amusement at Breaker opening up the chassis. Intrigued, he said, "Did he shock her?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, domestic violence is usually just on the outside, ya know? The face, the arms, legs. You're cuttin' her up and lookin' at her insides, I'm thinkin' the boyfriend, or girlfriend, whatever, might've shocked her or poisoned her."

"That, well… Lately I've witnessed and reported coworkers who were stealing organs. I'm not the first to examine this one, so I'm just checking."

"Stealing organs?"

"For whatever purpose. It's not really my business to know."

Jazz walked away and leaned against the wall, giving Breaker his space while he worked. The pathologist made it sound like he did not care, but Jazz could tell he did.

"I never got your name, officer," he spoke up.

"Jazz. And it's 'agent', really." It honestly was not, but "Agent Jazz" sounded a lot better to him than "Officer Jazz." He would have to tell Prowl that, just to get a laugh out of him.

"Dr. Breaker," the grey mech said, exchanging pleasantries for sake of politeness. "May I ask your purpose?"

"Tryin' ta get rid of me?" the white mech joked.

"I'm busy."

Jazz frowned. He was not used to being around such a somber person. "Jumpspring. Does the name mean anything?"

"He was the DGS agent who questioned me about my coworkers. I also worked on him. He's over there." Breaker pointed to a table a few feet away from Jazz. It had a body but it was covered by a white sheet. Jazz scooted away from the table. "A shot through the head and a knife to the spark. A quick and painless death, but he saw it coming, since it was at his front. Except his head; that was through the back." With a wound from both the front and back, Jazz was starting to believe more than one person had killed the poor DGS agent. "I take it you're his replacement, so I'll just get straight to it." Finally he set down his tools next to the fem, his hands coated with energon. He looked at Jazz. His face was covered in scrapes, not that he was concerned. His eyes were a lime green, the most attractive part about him compared to everything else. To the white mech he looked like a sociopath. "He mentioned his case. Black market deals. It turns out the people I worked with were stealing organs and selling them."

"Organs on the black market? Never heard of that before."

"You might be able to afford a transplant, Agent Jazz, but others cannot. They sold organs for easy money. That was my initial thought, until Jumpspring mentioned bio-weaponry."

"Your boys were onto something more than making a quick buck."

"That's exactly what he thought. But there are no records of transactions, so we have no clue who the recipient of the organs are."

"Can I get a name?"

Breaker half smiled. "If you're looking to question them, you're too late."

"They're dead aren't they? Ain't that just my luck…" Jazz sighed.

"Three suicides on the same day at the same time. Their systems were shorted out."

Jazz's visor flickered. "Shorted out? I don't get it. Can you short out your own system? In jail?" He could make his spark stop for five minutes but he had never heard of someone shorting out their own system.

Breaker chuckled, a sound Jazz hoped he would never have to hear again. "I was confused too, so I asked for an autopsy report on all three of them. They all mentioned a device implanted in their cranial structure. My guess is that's what shorted them out."

"How?"

"I don't want to bore you with conspiracies, agent, but I believe they were killed by whoever they worked for. I can't say whom because I have nothing to back up my claim. Think about it, though. Three mechs who sold organs to the market and as soon as they're behind bars, they all die at once, from an electrical impulse emitted from the device."

Jazz crossed his arms, smirking as he noticed a glint in Breaker's optic. "You think they sold organs to the guy who killed them," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I never said anything." Breaker managed a quick wink before turning back to finish his work. Jazz walked to the door, thanking the pathologist for his help. He relayed the information back to Prowl, who sneered at the thought.

"Killed by a higher authority, huh?"

"Hey, there's gotta be _somebody_ runnin' the market, right? Ever thought of that? Like how Shockwave runs the whole district of Tarn? The boss got mad and so 'discharged' his employees." He waited for Prowl to at least attempt a smile at his pun. Nothing happened, so he continued. "Question is who holds the remote that shorted out the others? Jumpspring had to be onto somethin'. He mentioned bio-weapons to your scientist and my coroner."

"Where did he _get_ that idea, anyway?"

"We'll figure it out."

* * *

Prowl left Jazz as they went by Blue Ring. They decided they already had enough information to process for one day and to take the night off. Jazz sighed in relief. His own boss was already aware that he had not made money off of the "sleezy rat-looking mech" (as he put it) the night before and that this night he had to put on a real show to make up for it. Jazz blew his officer a kiss good night and Prowl just waved him off.

Prowl walked into his apartment. The living section had off-white walls and a dark grey floor, the wall on the other side of the door led onto a balcony. The closest door on the left went into the wash rack, big enough for two if they did not mind being in such a small space together. The other door on the left wall was where his private room was. Inside were just a berth, a desk, and a computer. His personal things were not on display but kept in a box beneath his berth. He walked into this room and sat at the desk, ready to type away his findings of the day to review if he ever needed them again. His "work journal" as an old friend had called it.

He recorded down what he knew as far as the case. Jumpspring was investigating black market transactions and theorized someone was designing bio-weapons. But what for? Why would it be so secret? Was it for a personal gain? Were they building an army underground? It was possible to conclude that the agent was killed because he was looking into it too far and was caught doing it. The power behind this either killed Jumpspring himself or hired someone to do it for him. His murder was another matter; Prowl's case was to continue the one Jumpspring invented. This "boss" had underlings doing his dirty work and taking the blame, only to end up in prison. And, if Breaker's hypothesis was correct, executed them via electric impulse to the processor, shutting down their systems. Another thing was those volunteers had to have had the device surgically implanted in their heads. They willingly risked their lives to work under this mech, knowing if they failed they would die. What sort of person had that power to persuade mechs to do this for his own benefit? Or did he offer them something in return should they succeed? He still tried to think of how Packrat fit into all of this. Was he an experiment for the "boss" that turned wrong and they let him loose, or did he escape before his death could be carried out? Hopefully the rat would turn up soon again for proper questioning.

He re-read his log over and over, hoping that he could answer his own questions. They had two of nine informants taken care of, that they might have to go back to, and one other was blown off the Grid. He looked at the list, deciding whom to talk to next. There was one name on there he wanted to cross out, just so he would not have to face him. It was someone who had hurt him a long time ago. But there was no doubt in Prowl's mind of how he was involved.

He settled on Ranger, a medic in Cyber City.

xXx

I could crank mini-comics out of this story just to draw Jazz's face whenever he tries to crack a joke with Prowl.

Next chapter's got the goods you guys have been waiting for~ I should tease you and wait a few weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

Alright, fine, I won't keep you guys waiting.

* * *

Chapter VI

Prowl slowly drove his way to Blue Ring. The questions in his head burned all night, keeping him from recharging. He knocked on the door, meeting again with the janitor, and went to Jazz's room.

"Jazz, get up," he said lazily, still trying to wake up. It was still early in the morning, too early for anyone to be up. There were people they had to meet, a case to solve, before their fate ended up like Jumpspring. "Jazz, come on! Get your lazy aft up!"

He waited a few minutes. He could not hear any shuffling behind the door, not even a moan of protest for being woken up so early. Either Jazz was truly deep in recharge, at someone else's place, or ignoring him. He decided to comm. him.

"Jazz!"

"_Wha-! Prowl!_" he whispered harshly through his link. "_Don't scare me like that!_"

"Where are you? Our next one's in Cyber City."

"_At a customer's! I'm supposed ta get paid the full night, but his aft won't wake up to give me the money._"

Prowl rubbed his helm. "Then wake him up."

"_I don't want trouble from this guy._"

"I thought you of all people would have insurance."

"_Huh?_"

"If the guy doesn't pay, you tell your boss, your boss sends out people to _get _him to pay. Isn't that how it works?"

"_…Smartaft. Where are you?_"

"Your place."

"_I'll be there in thirty minutes. If my paint gets scratched, if I get a dent in my bumper, I'm giving you my cosmetics bill._"

Before Prowl could counter, Jazz shut off his comm. link. He waited downstairs, sitting at a table. The janitor was nice enough to offer a drink but he declined. He tried to think about other things than the case, to get his mind to relax, but he wanted to be focused and ready today. Jazz rolled up and strutted into the silent club. To Prowl's relief, Jazz was perfectly fine, save for the few signs of an interface marked on intimate parts of him. He felt his frame heat at the sight of it and tried to expel the feeling by looking at Jazz's visor.

"Ready?"

"Hold on, babe," Jazz chirped, "you're gonna make me walk out lookin' like this? Uh-uh, I gotta wash up first."

"Hurry up. I had a rough night and I need you to be professional today, or at least act like it."

"I had a rough night too, sweetie. You don't hear me complainin', do ya?" Part of his visor flickered in a wink. "Wanna help me wash?"

"Will it help us get to Cyber City faster?"

"Will it?"

Prowl sighed. He really did not want to put up with Jazz's frivolousness today after a tough night with hardly any sleep. He knew Jazz was only joking when he asked to join him in a wash, but the white mech just stood there, waiting for a straight answer. Did he actually expect him to say something?

"I could do with a rinse," he muttered. "I'll take my own stall though."

Jazz smirked. He grabbed Prowl by the hand, dragging him to the back area of the club to a wash room. There were already two others in there, both femmes, washing off the marks of last night. They waved at Jazz and flashed bright smiles.

"Ladies," Jazz said brazenly. "Have you met Officer Prowl?"

"Is he one of yours?" one painted in red asked, gazing at the black and white mech.

"Care to share?" said the pink one, gesturing a wink and scrubbing her leg slowly, flirtatiously.

"Uh…" Prowl did not know how to respond. Here were two beautiful, well-built femmes eyeing him with darkened optics. When he was young he caught a glimpse of a group of femmes in the gym washroom before one of them spotted him and threw a rather dense sponge at his head. His processor fantasized about the girls, their sleek and shiny bodies glazed with condensation as they…

"He's too uptight for that, girls," Jazz said, shattering Prowl's daydream. "Besides, he doesn't pay for what he considers should be free."

"Too bad," said the pink one. "I'm a very good masseuse."

"And everyone knows it." Jazz turned to Prowl. "Don't get too close. They're like animals."

"Heard that!" said the red one, throwing a cleanser bottle at him. Jazz caught it without looking.

"You were meant to!"

Prowl stood in a stall next to Jazz. The stalls had no doors and only half of a wall between each of them, so he had a view of everyone in the room. He tried to stay focused and turned on the faucet. Hot water gushed out onto his frame, relaxing him, trickling into the seams of his plating. He was about to shut down to recharge when he remembered he had a job to do and he had to be awake for it, at least until they were done questioning Ranger.

The heat was making him dizzy and his optics went out of focus. He leaned over and braced an arm against the wall for balance but his legs failed him and he slipped forward, knocking his head to the floor. The last thing Prowl remembered hearing was the two girls yelp in surprise and Jazz calling out to make sure he was alright.

* * *

He woke up with his processor pounding so hard it was the only sound he could hear. When he tried to sit up his joints creaked from stiffness. Each of his limbs felt heavy when he tried to move but in time he was able to sit upright. Once his visual feed came online he looked around at the strange room he was in. No, wait, it was not strange; it was Jazz's room. Pinkish-blue, mood lighting, sliding window doors to the balcony, and the padded berth below him. Jazz must have moved him here. On the end table next to him was a small cylinder cup of mid-grade left for him. As soon as he saw it his tank rumbled. He had energon before he left, so there was no reason it should be empty. He did not care anymore. All he knew was that he was in pain and he needed something. He took the small cup and gulped down the liquid in two guzzles. His tank settled a bit more and his body felt a little lighter. After his head stopped pounding he heard noises outside of the room. He had not known the club to be busy during the day.

Or maybe that was it. Maybe it was not daytime anymore. He probably slept it all away and woke up to the night life. He groaned aloud and smacked his helm. A whole day wasted!

The door slid open. Jazz scrambled in and spun back around, putting his hand against the chest of a slim mech who tried to get into his room, wanting a piece of the dancer tonight.

"No way you're gettin' in, sweets," Jazz teased, "I've got another boy to treat."

Before the mech could say anything, Jazz closed the door. The white mech turned and put his hands on his hips, half-frowning at the officer.

"You scared me, Prowl," he said, sounding more serious than the cop had ever heard him.

"What happened to me?"

"You fell and hit your head." He walked over and sat on the edge of the berth. His visor was dimmed in concern. "I thought you might've cracked something. You've been asleep the whole day."

Prowl groaned again and looked away.

"Sheriff asked where you were since you didn't clock in today. Don't worry, I told him what happened."

Prowl did not move his head but he looked at Jazz. "What exactly did you tell him?"

"That you passed out from lack of recharge. He said it was bound to happen one day, with how hard you work yourself."

He smiled in amusement. He could not drop it quickly enough for the dancer not to notice but Jazz did not say anything about it, like the last time he saw him smile.

"The whole day," Prowl sighed.

"All day." He paused for a moment. "Who's Burst?"

Prowl's optics opened wide and he shot up. His back pistons screeched in pain at the sudden movement, and he groaned before he said anything else.

"Where did you hear that name?" he asked as if Jazz was a suspect of something truly horrible.

Jazz was not fazed by the tough-cop look. "You talk in your sleep. You said 'Burst' like it was someone you missed."

"He's no one," Prowl growled. "Don't ever talk about him again."

Jazz stared. He had never seen someone this upset in a long time. "Yes, sir."

Prowl twisted his hips to sit on the edge of the berth. Pistons and gyros popped as they tried to fit back into place. Jazz crawled onto the berth and sat behind him, putting his hands on his shoulders.

"Relax a lil'," he cooed.

"Why?"

"Would you just trust me?"

The officer sighed again and sat up as best as he could. His lower back started burning but was quickly dulled into a tingle when Jazz motioned his hands across back, massaging him. Jazz was talented at making someone feel at ease, and Prowl was no challenge. He rubbed his thumbs up and down the back of his neck and the officer's shoulders went down in relaxation. The white mech was rubbing against centuries worth of his hard work and tension. He moved his elbows in circles against Prowl's upper back to get some of the bigger knots and the other mech arched his back into the pressure. Jazz saw him tilt his head back and he knew he had him where he wanted. Smiling to himself he worked his hands down, rubbing over some areas with a lot of buildup.

"This might hurt a bit," he warned as one of his hands pushed against the side of Prowl's lower back. The officer yelped as something burst beneath his plating with a loud thud. But suddenly that section of his back seemed more relieved than it had in years. "Gas pockets. Nasty suckers. I'll get the other one." He rubbed circles around another segment in the officer's back.

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

"A wise ol' mech."

_Kush! _The other pocket exploded and Prowl fell back against Jazz in a daze. The white mech kept his arms underneath the other's to hold him up.

"Feel better?" Jazz chuckled.

"Oh yeah…"

"I ain't done with you, though. Sit up."

Prowl awkwardly leaned up again. His back bent forward and he rested his arms on his legs. He never could figure out why he had back problems and did not bother to go to a doctor about it. Jazz, in less than ten minutes, pressurized it right out of him.

A tingle went down his spinal strut and his back arched up to the sensation. Jazz's hands were not on his back but something much more sensitive. Like the wings on Seekers, the two doors that stuck out of Prowl's back were delicate and prone to every gentle touch. He sat up straight and gasped as Jazz ghosted the underside and felt his interface panel heat up. The white mech chuckled, knowing he had him riled. He slid his hands up to the base joint where the doors attached to Prowl's back and wiggled his fingers inside to tease at the wiring. The cop's frame tensed and shivered to the touch, electric static crisscrossing over his body. His cable started feeling tight against its covering.

"Want a little more?" Jazz cooed, tugging lightly on a small cord.

"Nh!" Prowl was not sure how to respond. A part of him said that his relationship with Jazz was purely professional. Another urged him to let the dancer ravage him as much as he wanted to into an overload.

"I'm takin' it that's a yes," the white mech purred. Leaning forward, he licked the seam that attached to one of the doors and Prowl jerked. Jazz laughed. "Just relax, officer. This ain't gonna hurt one bit."

Before he knew it, Jazz had scooted up and his legs went on either side of Prowl's hips, hanging off the side of the berth. The suave mech massaged his hands over Prowl's thighs to encourage him to sit on his lap. He was not sure why he did it, but the officer obliged, lifting his aft up and resting it back down on Jazz's thighs. The white mech's engine hummed in approval and nuzzled his face on Prowl's back.

Jazz moved his hands up and rotated his fingers around the glass headlights on the officer's chassis, making Prowl's intakes hitch and gasp. Without realizing, he rubbed his aft against Jazz's legs to get whatever friction he could from the smaller mech.

"Ah…" Jazz's visor flashed in excitement. Prowl was completely subdued and under his control, but he had an odd feeling that it would not last very long. Prowl did not seem the kind to just let someone top him in the berth. He had to play it carefully, get him to feel comfortable enough to do whatever he wanted, and let him do it.

He put his chin on Prowl's shoulder to get a peek at his interface. A nice rounded bulge stuck out and his vocals growled. He moved a hand over and stroked the heated mound. Prowl moaned, leaning his head back against Jazz's shoulder and flickering his optics. The white mech cupped the knoll and gave it a squeeze. The cop jerked his hips forward in reflex.

"Let me help you with that, Prowl," Jazz purred into his audio. The law enforcer was not sure what Jazz was up to but he could take a few guesses. The dancer wiggled away from under him and slid off the berth. He got on his knees in front of Prowl and encouraged him to move his legs apart. The black and white mech was not too sure. His senses were starting to come back to him and his logic center was screaming faintly in the back of his mind that he was acting like a slut. But those thoughts were demolished when Jazz licked his knee, mewling.

His port covering snapped open, releasing his engorged cable. Jazz smirked devilishly and wrapped a hand around it before Prowl could say anything against his conduct, rubbing his thumb against the tip. The officer's hips bucked forward to get more heat and his vents whirred to life to try and cool him back down. Jazz moved forward and licked the tip of his arousal, tilting his head to look up at Prowl's flushed expression as he tasted him. Rubbing against the base, Jazz took the spike into his mouth and bobbed his head, taking in the officer as deep as he could. Prowl moaned, feeling his cable touching against the back of Jazz's throat and he gripped the berth padding, using every bit of strength he had to restrain himself and to not shove his spike deeper into the dancer's mouth. The white mech rubbed his glossa against the underside of the other mech's cable, extracting more groans. He pulled his mouth away to catch a breath and pumped the spike with his hand, gently pinching at the tip. Looking up at Prowl he could see the darkened lust in his optics. He was trying so hard to keep his composure.

"You're not gonna charge me, are you?" Prowl joked, panting.

Jazz snickered. "Nah, this one's on me, officer."

He stood back up, put his hands on Prowl's shoulders, and straddled his lap. The cop instinctively glazed his hands over Jazz's headlights to return some of the pleasure.

"Mmh!" Jazz leaned back and scooted his hips forward to grind on Prowl's cable. His own panel was heated and he was sure Prowl could feel it. The cop's optics flashed and darkened again within a second. Jazz noticed there was something animalistic about the way he looked at him. Like he wanted to push him down to the floor and ram into him as hard as he could. Not that he would try and stop him or anything.

Prowl heard the faint click of Jazz's panel opening and expected to see his cable. When he looked down he saw lubricants dripping out from the white mech's port. He was so transfixed on it that Jazz believed he was having second thoughts about what they were doing.

"Stuff me, Prowl," he begged to keep his mind focused. "I need you…"

He never needed convincing. Prowl held Jazz's aft and twisted them around so they were on the berth with the smaller mech below him. Jazz spread his legs further apart and lightly bucked up to get Prowl's spike inside him. The officer backed up, taking in the scene of this lustrous mech and his dribbling valve. Jazz whined, reaching a hand over to rub his own opening, causing Prowl's engine to roar in arousal.

"Please, Prowl…!" Jazz panted, letting two of his digits sink into his valve.

Prowl smirked just as Jazz had smirked when he finally had him in a daze. He grabbed the white mech by the hips and slid them forward, lifting the valve to his face and draping the performer's legs over his shoulders. Jazz squeaked in surprise, which slowly morphed into a groan as Prowl dipped his glossa into the drenched port.

"Prowl!"

Jazz could feel his overload creeping up but he had hoped it would happen with a thick spike pressing into him. He held back, letting Prowl taste him. His glossa moved in slow circles, plunging in and out of the clenching passage, pearlescent lubricants coating around his mouth. Jazz was sure about one thing: Prowl was a messy eater.

The officer pulled his helm back and replaced his glossa with a digit, testing the constriction inside Jazz's valve. The smaller mech gave a soft moan and arched into the touch, trying to get it in as deep as he could from his awkward position. Prowl moved his legs from his shoulders and wiped off the lubricant with the back of his arm.

"Ready?" he growled. Jazz smiled, put his arms above his head on the padding, and bucked his hips up in encouragement. Prowl moved forward, pushing the tip of his spike to Jazz's port. The white mech uttered a long, slow moan as he gently pushed the rest of the length into his tight passage.

"Damn, you're tight," Prowl grunted as he started a slow rhythm. Jazz cried out as the cop's swollen arousal brushed against sensor clusters that sent waves of electricity coursing through him.

"Prowl!" he praised. "Oh, harder, more!"

Hearing those sweet sounds revved him up, and Prowl obligingly sped up his pace, crashing his hips against the mech below. He could not think anymore. His processor was buzzing. The collision of metal in his audios rang and he completely gave in to his lust. There was something he wanted to try, something he remembered that caused a lot of noise in the past.

"Tell me if it's too much," he panted.

Jazz rolled his optics and grinned. "Of course," he said, not believing that Prowl could do anything that he had not seen or felt before.

Prowl grabbed one of Jazz's legs and lifted it up to settle it on his shoulder. Jazz's visor brightened as he realized what he was up to and braced himself. Prowl shifted his hips and slammed into his port, hitting the front wall of his valve, the most delicate segment of sensor nodes. Jazz cried out, screaming as the taller mech thrusted back into him at full force. His own processor was shorting out, the first sign of an impending overload. He let his vocals loose.

"Ooh! More! Prowl, give me more!"

Prowl groaned as Jazz's port tightened around his cable. The white mech was a lot closer to an overload than he was, and the look on the officer's face gave away his thoughts. Jazz knew that face. It was one when others were worried that the other would tip over first and they would have to find some other way to get their systems to overload. So Jazz leaned up, showing off his flexibility, and moaned into Prowl's audios.

"_Officer..!_"

That was the breaking point. Prowl shouted as his frame jolted and slammed Jazz and himself back against the berth. Jazz felt the searing hot transfluid fill up his port and leaned in to mewl into Prowl's shoulder as his own frame convulsed into a system short-out. When both of their overloads subsided, Jazz was lightly moaning and squirming in his spot and Prowl kept his spike buried into the beautiful mech's port, thrusting lightly to get every last bit of his pleasure into him. Once he was done and his cable softened he pulled out and leaned back, vents working furiously to cool his frame. Jazz's knees pressed closer together at the wave of chill air over his warm, damp port, a pool of both his and Prowl's fluids forming on the padding below his aft.

Prowl knew that if he tried to leave that damned door would ask for his money again, and Jazz would have to get up to punch in the code. And he knew the dancer knew that, because he saw the wicked smirk on his face when he looked at the door and back to him.

"Just drop the load and go, huh?" Jazz teased. "Stay a while, baby. I need a big, strong mech to keep me warm tonight."

Prowl knew that in the morning he would be regretting this night but right now his mind was having a hard time believing that. He nestled beside Jazz, one arm behind his helm as a pillow. Jazz snuggled up to his chest, engine purring as he began to slip into recharge. The cop put an arm around him to keep him in place. Prowl looked past him to the windows, admiring the bright mixture of colors coming from the Helix Gardens several blocks away. The colors all started to blur as he shut off his optics and recharged.

xXx

Before you lovely ladies go off to take a cold shower, I want to confess this was the first time I've ever written out a complete interface scene. _And there will be more to come~_. Thoughts, comments, constructive critiques are welcome.


	7. Chapter 7

I'm going to leave this chapter in your care before I head off to Georgia for the weekend.

* * *

Chapter VII

Jazz was the first to wake up. He tried to stretch his limbs out a bit but was confined when he saw a law enforcer wrapped around him. Prowl was lying beside him, helm on his chest and one leg wrapped around one of the white mech's, snuggling him. Jazz purred. What a rare sight this had to be, getting Prowl to look even remotely relaxed. He memorized it, wanting to remember how peaceful he looked.

It did not last long, however. Prowl stirred awake when Jazz started stroking down his back affectionately. His gears and gyros snapped into different places as he stretched himself across the berth. Blearily his optics onlined and looked at Jazz. His video feed was still fuzzy but he knew who he was looking at. Who could forget that glossy finish?

"Where am I…?" he groaned.

"You don't remember?" Jazz said, almost disappointed.

Prowl remembered. He just thought it was a dream. It _had_ to be a dream. If it was not then that meant… Oh Primus.

"We didn't…" he started, not sure if he wanted to finish.

"Relieve some sexual tension?" Jazz chuckled, not wasting any time with vague details. "We sure did, sugar rims." The smaller mech stroked the glass on his door wings. The officer shivered at the touch and sat up to get him to stop.

"Last night didn't happen," he said sternly with his optics narrowed.

"Of course it did."

The white and black mech leaned in, his optics brightening in warning. "Last night. Did not. _Happen_," he emphasized.

The smile on Jazz's face disappeared. He should have expected Prowl to act like this. Other law enforcers he berthed were the same way. They did not want anyone snitching about laying with a prostitute, or even the fact that they had flirted with one. Most of them were bonded already or had kids. Prowl, as far as he knew, was alone, so there was no reason for him to act like this other than the knowledge that he wanted a clean record; no white lies tainting his file, no honest thievery, no accusation of anything; he wanted to be a perfect example. Fragging a hooker was not being a perfect example.

"It didn't happen," Jazz repeated with a frown.

Further implying his threat, Prowl refused to speak to him while they were still in the building. They had their cubes of low grade, sitting on opposite sides of a table. Prowl either kept looking down or away, in any direction but towards his partner. And in the wash hall, Jazz tried to get him into a shower near him, using an excuse that most members around here washed in pairs to reach the hard spots, but Prowl did not buy it. He took a stall on the other side of the room so Jazz was barely in his peripheral. As he scrubbed he tried to remember all that happened last night. He recalled Jazz massaging him, and the ease on his lower back confirmed that, since it no longer felt as stiff as it had been. He remembered Jazz getting on his knees and… Dear Primus, what else? What happened next? His processor whirled with memories that were in random order, moments that seemed too overwhelmed by his heated system at the time that they could not possibly be true. He sat on Jazz's lap, Jazz sat on his, he laid on his back… beneath him… begging for more of him…

He shivered, jolting back into reality in time to witness his frame re-heating and steaming, fans faintly shuttering to cool him down. The officer groaned and tapped on the controls to lower the water temperature. He heard a slight chuckle from the other side of the room.

"Feelin' frisky again?" the white mech teased.

Prowl shot him a glare before turning around to finish his shower.

"Make sure you buff out those scuffs on your thigh, Prowl. Wouldn't want you lookin' indecent and embarrass me."

The black and white mech felt his frame heat again, this time with frustration. He scrubbed harder with the sponge, almost scratching away some of his paint. He did not care. There was plenty of extra paint at his apartment he kept in case he got grazed or beat up during some kind of negotiation or gunfight. He was never involved in that sort of action. He never wanted to be. Violence was not his strongest suit, but he knew it was necessary for a cop to at least know how to fight and to shoot a gun as a last resort.

When he was finished he shut off the water and opened the wall cabinet at the back wall for a towel. Jazz gave a low whistle.

"You really need some gloss on your hide," he commented. "Your paint's nasty faded. Could I give you a makeover?"

"I'm not going to feed your vanity for a stupid shine," the officer muttered.

"Oh thank Primus, your vocal chords ain't busted."

"Damn Primus that yours aren't."

"You can't resist this sultry, sexy voice. Remember how it seduced you into an overload last night?"

Prowl turned and growled. "I said not to talk about it again!"

"It's between you an' me!"

"Is it?" He pointed to the small camera in the corner of the hall. Jazz had said not one room in this building was left private, not even the restrooms or the dancers' rooms. Whoever might have been watching now heard them, and may even have the of last night episode on a recording for later late-night purposes. "You keep your mouth shut about this."

Jazz lowered his head and sneered. "You almost sound like you're going to kill me if I spill it."

Prowl took the towel and rubbed it over his helm. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is kill a mech. I just don't want this getting out to Sheriff Surge, or the other cops for that matter. I've got a good reputation going and one night with a slut could change that."

Jazz's visor flashed. He cocked his hip and put a hand on his waist. "I know you didn't just call me a slut."

"That's what you are."

"You cranky, ignorant slag heap…" Jazz took several long steps towards him. Since he was light-weight, his footsteps did not sound that threatening. "No one calls me a slut! Ya hear? I'm an entertainer! A performer!"

"Who gets fragged. Sounds like a slut to me." Prowl matched his glare. "Or should I embroider the term and call you a prostitute?"

"Big words don't scare me, ya brooding fragger."

"Disease-riddled spike-sucker."

"Low-brow, annoying pile of scrap!"

"Worthless trash scavenger!"

"Slag-lickin' disappointment!"

"Rotten hooker!"

Jazz, without any form of shout or scream as a warning, grabbed Prowl's hands and pulled him downward, sending the officer's face into his lifted knee and denting his cheek. In a weak fury, he retaliated by trying to hug around Jazz's legs and bring him down. The white mech fell down on his back, but, with amazing strength, lifted his legs up to make a one-eighty-degree angle, and sent the enforcer slamming onto the floor on his front, leaving him breathless. The white mech wiggled free from Prowl's grip as he tried to refill his intakes, then Jazz stood behind him, pressed a foot against Prowl's back and pulled on his wrists so his arms were straight behind him.

"One more wisecrack and I break 'em off," Jazz warned.

"Feh. You do that and I'll make sure Surge gets you arrested. This time you won't even have air vents to crawl through!" Jazz pressed on his back, and he felt a crack in his shoulder. "Ah!"

"I want an apology."

"For what!"

"For callin' me names first and for being such a sparkling by giving me the silent treatment all morning."

"I don't have to apologize for anything."

"I'll send you money for your hospital bill." He pulled his arms and a wire seemed to have come loose.

"AH! Okay! I'm sorry! I need those arms!"

"Like you mean it!"

"Fine!" He cycled some air before turning his head to the side and darkening his optics. "I'm sorry. I was an aft. I shouldn't have called you names. I just…" He stopped, trying to get his processor to link with his vocal chords. "I worked so hard to be a cop. I don't want to ruin it… I wasn't even supposed to be one, I supposed to be an artisan…"

Jazz eased his grip, interested in what Prowl was confessing. "An artisan? You?"

"My alpha was one… Primus, I can't believe I'm saying this to you! You got your sorry, now let me go!"

Jazz thought for a moment and released him. Prowl groaned and stood up, rotating his shoulder back into place. He gave a sideways glance when he picked up his towel and dried the rest of his frame off.

"Your turn," Prowl murmured.

Jazz scoffed, "My turn for what?"

"I just gave you a piece of my origin, now I have to hear a part of yours. Where did you come from?"

The white mech huffed. "You're such a… Alright, you were right, Prowl, about the illegal spark thing. My parents never bonded, I'm illegit. They dropped my aft off at a temple."

"Obviously you ran away."

"Yeah, obviously. Bein' a bastard son raised by a priest who was a Covenant-thumper wasn't exactly the best childhood."

Prowl chuckled. "I can't imagine." His own alpha was religious, and made many commissions from the nearby temple, designing artifacts or even decorative chairs and necklaces. Twice a week he was forced to visit the temple. The priests, he never liked them. He did not know why but he believed it was the way they spoke and the way they made everything seem like everything was set one way and that one way was the only right way. An acolyte he met outside of the temple, who was feeding stray animals, had his own thoughts. He was a rare thing among Cybertronians, especially religious ones, who believed that one way could not be the _only_ right way. There had to be many, like how the cities had many roads that connected each other. He was a strange mechling who Prowl had admired but hardly saw of him. In one part, because his alpha watched whoever he talked to, and, secondly, he was scarcely seen any more after that. Prowl, when he became older, realized that the few times he saw this mech again he had new scratches. The priests were whipping the eccentric ideas out of him. Was Jazz an eccentric? And did he run for the same reason the acolyte was beating beaten for?

"Where did you learn moves like that?" Prowl asked, smoothing out the dent in his cheek.

"You think I'd live a life in a club filled with ugly mechs and not know how to defend myself? Jeez, Prowl, you underestimate me. I'm insulted," he said jokingly.

"Most, um, _entertainers_, I never expected them to know how to fight. And you, since you're kinda small, you're… actually pretty strong."

"Fraggin' requires strength, thick-helm." He tapped a knuckle to Prowl's helm for good measure and the officer swatted him away. "And so does movin' up and down that pole. Now let's boogie. We've got people to meet."

* * *

Ranger was somewhat difficult to get a hold of. Cyber City was a bustling place, day in and day out. It was mostly a manufacturing city, designing things from test tubes to furniture to toys, and because of this the security at the border was tough to penetrate. Because Jazz was an illegal spark with no records of his existence, Prowl had to nearly threaten the patrol to let him in with him. Instead he made a call to Surge and patched him to the guard, assuring the cop's partner was entrusted with a case. When he was finally let through, Jazz stuck out his glossa before transforming and following Prowl, letting out a cloud of exhaust smoke in the guard's face.

"So who's this Ranger guy again?" Jazz asked, his voice barely going over the roar of traffic.

"He's an emergency physician."

"Quick thinker, then."

"Yep. But he's… not the best around. Some patients are either cured entirely or are worse off than before. I looked at some of the patients' records, to use them against him in case I need to weasel something out of him, and a lot of them have ended up missing."

"Missing?"

"No one knows if they're on the Grid or not, and few times they've been recovered."

"They all died?" Jazz started to consider if he should have let the guard hold him at the border just so he could stay away from Ranger, who seemed to be cursed if anything else.

"Not all of them. If they were alive they weren't the same again. Crazy or paranoid, their form may have changed somehow; that sort of thing."

"I'm willing to bet ten credits Dr. Ranger's sold these poor people to the black market for… Oh, I don't know, maybe some underground bio-weaponry experimentation?" He wished they were in protoform so he could smirk.

"You think it's that easy?"

"Easy as breaking out of your police station."

Prowl's engine growled a little. "He's innocent until proven guilty. That's how this system works."

"But it's not how you cops act. Trust me, it's the reverse with most of your comrades, Prowler. Ooh, can I call you that from now on? I like how that rolls. Prowler…"

"No, you may not."

"Yes sir, Officer Prowler, sir."

The enforcer had no idea why he thought saying "no" would have stopped Jazz from doing what he wanted. He considered himself lucky Jazz would comply with anything he said when he really needed him to. But the nickname "Prowler" he had left years ago, back in his childhood. His carri called him that first, then his friends started calling him that to make fun of him, then it stuck for a while. As they branched away from each other to go to different schools, he scrapped the name and forgot all about it. Until Jazz brought it up. It _would _be Jazz to throw him back into his own past. First admitting he should have been an artisan, now "Prowler". What next?

"So where does our psycho-doctor work at?" Jazz chimed, breaking his thoughts.

"Dreamwave Medical Center. It's in the middle of the city. It'll take twenty minutes to get there."

Right then, Prowl spotted a blockade up ahead and transformed to avoid hitting it, skidding across the road. Jazz followed. Unfortunately there was reconstruction going on.

"I revise that statement," Prowl said, recalculating another route. "Thirty minutes, forty tops."

"Primus dammit, Prowl. Can we at least stop for a snack or something?"

"What? You can't be hungry already."

The white mech shrugged. "I ain't used to driving this long. Just a quick sip. Maybe a sweet! Won't even take a second, I promise."

Prowl never understood why he let Jazz do whatever he wanted while on a case, or even why he wanted him to be his partner in the first place. He never took anything serious, everything had a joke in it that only Jazz managed to pull from it. He did what he wanted, said what he thought, and without consequence. It was annoying, borderline envying, since Prowl was taught to keep most things to himself.

They stopped at a small store that sold sweet creamed energon. The officer could not remember the last time he had stepped into a place like this. And Jazz's reaction to the bright interior colors reminded him of some of the sparklings that were around, licking away their goodies. Jazz practically skipped up to the open counter and kindly asked for a certain blend of cream, topped with bits of frozen diesel fuel. When he had it in his hands, Prowl started to consider getting a cup for himself.

"Mm-hm-hm!" Jazz hummed when he took his first bite. His fans spun for a moment in pleasure. "Primus, you've got to try this, this is the best jelly I've ever tasted!"

"I'll get one later. When we're done talking to Ranger," Prowl said, not even convincing himself.

"Speaking of which," Jazz said in between spoonfuls, "our guy's over there." He rotated his shoulder to point. Sure enough, a purple and white mech was sitting at a table, slowly eating his cream. Prowl took out his data pad to be sure it was him and opened a picture file. This mech was a match. A bit taller than Prowl, a sturdy frame, a peaceful face blessed with yellow optics, and an EKG line on each arm. The law enforcer took a step forward.

"An' where in the blazin' Pit do you think you're going?" Jazz said, too busy eating to reach out and stop him.

"Going to talk to our mech."

"Can't it wait 'til I'm done?"

For all Prowl cared, Jazz could just go ahead and sit somewhere far away so he could focus on questioning Ranger. He had hoped to meet him at his work, that way Jazz would feel a little more professional, instead of a small, vibrant jelly store that brought out the child in him. His partner, though he was busy eating, insisted on staying with him, and they both sat across from Ranger. The medic looked at them, confused.

"Hi?" he said. His voice betrayed his age. While he looked about Surge's matured age, he sounded younger than Jazz.

"Officer Prowl," the black and white mech said, holding up his badge, and pointed to the white mech next to him, "Officer Jazz."

"Mm." Jazz swallowed his mouthful before speaking. "_Agent _Jazz. How ya doin'?" He reached out his hand to shake and Ranger accepted it. Prowl took a moment to process that his partner had preferred to be called "agent" all of a sudden instead of "officer."

"I'm fine, you?" Ranger said lowly, still unsure of two law enforcers sitting with him from out of the blue.

"I'd cheer up a lot faster if my buddy here wasn't such a buzzkill and maybe eat a lil' spoonful of jelly." Jazz tried to put a spoon of his lavender cream near Prowl's mouth in encouragement to eat it, but the black and white mech turned his head away and pushed his partner's arm. The white mech turned back to the medic. "Don't let him upset you, doc, he's been grumpy since I first met him."

Ranger smiled. "I've met plenty of people like that."

Prowl saw what Jazz was doing. He was getting the doctor comfortable before questioning. Something he probably would not have done on his own. He always wanted to get straight to the point, no small talk, no jokes, just plain facts that would help solve a case. With Jazz here, he did not have to worry about a fidgeting civilian getting nervous for no reason and sending the wrong symbols of body language. His social behavior would ease them into a conversation.

"Did we catch you on your day off?" Jazz asked.

"In fact, you did. Why?"

"Damn shame. You could've gone all day without seeing Prowl's ugly mug frowning at ya and it would've been beautiful. We're just here on business, Dr. Ranger, few questions, then we'll leave you be."

Ranger clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "Alright, ask away."

"Did you know a mech named Jumpspring?" Prowl asked.

The purple medic's yellow optics looked to the upper corner, trying to remember anything. "Can't say I've had the pleasure, sir."

"He was a DGS agent. His case was passed down to us."

"What's the case?"

Not really knowing, Prowl just pulled whatever they had gathered so far and put it into a small sentence with big words. "Black market bioweaponry transactions."

Ranger's optics grew wide. Within a second, he pushed the table up, forcing the two mechs backwards onto the ground, and ran out. Jazz whined, having the last of his cream split on his chassis. Prowl scrambled up to his pedes and watched the medic run out of the store. He adjusted his optics to follow the purple mech's energon signature and chased after him.

"C'mon, Jazz! He's getting away!"

"Man, I paid twenty credits for that blend!"

Prowl and Jazz took off on a high-speed, highway pursuit after the emergency vehicle. Prowl switched on his sirens to weave past the bystanders and Jazz followed close behind, eventually coming up to his side.

"Jazz, stay back!" Prowl ordered. "This could get dangerous!"

"Dangerous! If I can kick your sorry aft, I can pulverize this clown's!"

"That wasn't a suggestion!"

"And I reject your demands! Now focus on the runner!"

Ranger was a great distance between them. As an emergency vehicle he was designed to be fast and smooth to get patients to the E.R. as soon as possible without issues. Prowl was more or less built for enduring bullets and punches, not chasing. But he refused to let a suspect, or informant, whichever the doctor was now, get away from his sights.

The medic made a sharp turn onto an exit. Prowl had missed it, but Jazz followed the purple mech onto the next road. Prowl would have made a U-turn to get onto the exit but he would end up smashing into others that were going the opposite way.

He commed Jazz, "Stay on him!"

"_That's what I'm doin'!_"

Prowl transformed as he skid into the sidewalk, running along the way to get back to the exit turn. "If he tries anything funny, call for backup!"

"_You think I know the number to this metropolis' police station?!_" the dancer spat in irritancy.

"716-3!"

"_Thank you!_"

Jazz severed the link so he could focus on catching Ranger. This mech must have been a terrible liar to desperately flip the table on two authorities and make a break for it. This made the white mech more confident in his statement that Ranger was guilty of whatever he had done to his patients. There was no doubt that he was going into custody for further questioning. Though, the whole kidnapping or whatever Ranger wanted to call it was not his case. That would be left up to Cyber City Police. They just wanted information out of him to know what case Jumpspring was working on.

Fortunately for him, Ranger had his own sirens on to avoid the traffic. It was just a matter of staying on his bumper. Jazz had not gone this fast in a while. His tires already felt fairly chafed. The last itme he had gone this fast, he was driving away form an angry drunk.

"Yo, slow down!" he shouted to the purple vehicle, not truly expecting him to obey. He was involved in something terrible, and running away was the option he took. "Don't make me have to hurt you!"

Ranger never responded. He just kept driving, using all of his strength to get away. Jazz, with a shout, transformed, pounced forward, and tackled the vehicle. Ranger transformed out of reflex, hoping that his limbs would be able to free himself from the white mech. The other mechs and femmes around them skidded to a halt and formed a semi-circle behind them in the middle of the road. Ranger stood up, Jazz clinging on to a leg.

"C'mere!" Jazz growled, getting himself to stand while clawing into Ranger's frame. The purple medic hit him against the helm several times to shake him off, even lifted a knee up to his midsection. Jazz felt it hurt, _really _hurt, like a dense ball being slammed into his tank, but he refused to show any agony. Once he was face to face with the runner, he scowled, threw his head back, and slung it forward to knock against Ranger's helm. The purple medic's optics went in and out of focus as he tried to recover from the blow. Jazz released him from his grip. The purple mech stumbled back and fell clumsily onto the pavement.

Jazz felt the aftermath and a dull pain ruptured from the front of helm. He rubbed it, groaning at its intensity. _That was stupid, _he thought. Shaking his head to readjust his blurring optics, he stared at Ranger, whose head was still hard to lift up from the road.

"That's for wastin' my jelly," Jazz grumbled.

A faint cluster of police sirens emerged from the stopped group of Cybertronians who wanted to know what was going on. A small band of Cyber City Police pulled up and raised their weapons.

"Halt!" shouted one. "Police!"

"It's alright, guys!" Jazz said triumphantly, "I got him for ya. No need to thank me."

Two cops came up to him and restrained his arms behind his back. He struggled lightly, trying to tell him he was one of them… Sort of... In a way… Technically… One of them clamped cuffs around his wrists and he sighed, silently comming Prowl before the police took away his ability to communicate with outsiders.

"Prowler, I need a bail."

xXx

Cybertronian ice cream. Yum.


	8. Chapter 8

Happy Halloween, ya freaks. Here's an appropriate chapter.

* * *

Chapter VIII

Getting Jazz out of Cyber City jail was easier than getting him into the city itself. When Prowl made it to the station and saw Jazz behind bars, the dancer smiled and started teasing sarcastically. It was a nice cover for the multiple scrapes on his head and the violet stain on his chassis.

"Hey, officer," he purred. "These mean mechs locked me in a cage. You mind settin' 'em straight for me?"

Prowl turned to the nearest officer at a desk. "This mech here is my partner."

"Good for you," the cop grunted.

Prowl's optics flickered. At Praxus he was never disrespected, so this was a new flavor. "Meaning we're working on a case right now."

"And he was caught in a chase."

"Because he was the chaser!" Prowl started getting aggravated. For a moment he thought he would turn into Surge and bash some equipment against the wall. "Where's your sheriff? I need to talk with someone with a functioning processor."

The cop looked at him in annoyance. "He's out."

"By Pit he is." He lifted his badge. "Officer Prowl of the Praxus Police Force. Jazz is my temporary partner. We were asking questions, our suspect ran. Release him from custody and we won't have an issue."

The enforcer stood up. "Your partner has no badge. He can't prove if he was a runner or chaser, so I have no choice but to keep him here until the sheriff gets back and figures out what to do with him."

"Of course he's got a badge! Jazz, show him."

A hiss of inhalation went through the white mech's mouth. "Yeah… About that…"

Prowl shoulders slumped and he looked at the dancer with gleaming optics. "Don't tell me."

Jazz's shoulders went up in shy humiliation, palms faced upwards, and he smiled weakly. "I left it at home." He bit his lip and whispered, "Sorry."

The black and white mech rubbed his helm with three digits. "Damn it, Jazz, of all the stupid—You're supposed to have it on you at all times!"

"Don't be gettin' all brusque with me! I'm new to this! 'Sides, if I kept it on at _all _times, it would scare my customers away! You know how hands like to wander in the berth!"

The Cyber City officer interrupted, feeling slightly awkward that he was hearing this conversation. "I'll call the sheriff. Take a seat, Prowl; he takes his time getting here."

Because Jazz could not prove that he was an undercover partner, Prowl had to post bail. Jazz said he would pay him back eventually, and to consider ten of those credits part of his winning bet.

"What do you mean 'bet'?" Prowl asked, still irritated that his partner had made him look like an idiot by forgetting something as simple as a badge.

"You don't remember? I had betted ten credits that our doctor was involved in the black market bio-weapon thingie."

"He hasn't said anything."

"He doesn't have to. Soon as you mentioned it, he hauled out of the store like his aft just caught on fire. He's involved, Prowl. He's a kidnapper. Jumpspring knew it."

"We don't know what Jumpspring knew."

"Officer Prowl." The sheriff of Cyber City, Fireplug, walked up to them. He was blue with yellow flames. Though it was not suited to his age, even Jazz could say he made the paint look good. "Sorry about the trouble we caused."

"It wasn't entirely your fault." He threw a quick glance at Jazz and the mech laughed.

"If anything, I should let you finish questioning your suspect," the old mech continued. "But, since your partner doesn't have a badge, he can't be allowed in."

"Understood, sir."

"Primus damn it," Jazz muttered before Prowl shoved him in the arm, warning that he should behave himself.

Fireplug led him into the interrogation room, which was larger than the one Praxus had. He could imagine that bigger mechs lived in the city, some of them twice as big as himself, so the extra space was for people like them. However, in this case, it just made him uncomfortable, which was probably how the suspect was supposed to feel. Three of the walls had two-way mirrors, so the illusion of several mechs watching was imminent, making the room even more unbearable. Enforcers at Praxus liked to watch interrogations, and only so many mechs could see into the room at once. Here in Cyber City it was like the room was an arena with two cameras on opposite corners of the walls, recording every encounter.

Ranger was sitting handcuffed to a bar on the table. His head was down, refusing to look up at the officer in the room. He knew he was caught, and he knew he would not be able to lie. His house would have evidence that he would not have an alibi for. He was doomed, and he was just going to admit it.

"Hello again, Dr. Ranger," Prowl said, taking a seat across from him. The distance between them was pretty long, probably to keep any violence on one side of the room. The purple mech did not look up.

"Officer Prowl…" he murmured. "Where's the agent?"

"Jazz is sitting back for this one. You had your chance with the good cop, now you've got to deal with the bad cop."

Ranger ducked his head down deeper and his shoulders raised, trying to make some sort of barrier between them.

"You know if you admit to any crimes it's possible to get some time off of your prison sentence. People who plead not guilty get the trouble of going to court for more than a month and lengthening their punishment."

"You're giving me advice? I thought you were the bad cop."

"I get worse if I don't get what I need. As long as you obey, we won't have any trouble."

"Whatever…"

Jazz and a few other Cyber City enforcers were watching from behind the glass. They all were asking Jazz what the case was about so they could get a background story but he told them he was sworn to secrecy. It was not true; he just wanted them to be quiet so he could hear.

"Where were we... Oh yeah. Jumpspring. He was—"

"Bio-weapons, yeah… I never met him or talked to him about it, never seen him. Never made any deal with any Jumpspring."

Prowl's optics brightened. "Jumpspring was a DGS agent."

"Right, right, you told me…"

"You said you never made a deal. What does that mean?"

Ranger kept quiet.

"A lot of your patients wind up missing, doctor. I'd say you were either cursed or they're part of your 'deals.'"

Ranger's head shot up and the cuffs clanged to the table. "I never wanted this!" he shouted, making Prowl flinch in surprise. "They started it! It's not my fault!"

"Ranger, calm down," Prowl said slowly. Ranger's optics were glossing over and his voice began to break.

"They said they'd let them go if I did what they told me… They promised me! I risked my neck doing this! What more do they want from me?!"

"Doctor."

"I helped them! I helped them! They still didn't let my boys go! My mate and my kids! They fragging—!"

"_Doctor!_"

Ranger stopped, looking at Prowl with lubricants sliding down his face from his optics. Prowl waited a moment before speaking, keeping his voice low so Ranger would spend more energy trying to listen than to throw another tantrum.

"Someone made you kidnap people?"

"They've got my family, Prowl," Ranger whispered, straining to speak.

"Who has them?"

"I've already said too much… They know now, they know I'm spilling, and they'll kill me, they'll kill Starflower too, and my twin boys. Spikelet and Splicer, they're just sparklings… Oh, Primus, I can only hope they kill them instead of…" He choked on a sob.

"Instead of what?" _What could possibly be worse than death?_ he thought.

Ranger's optics flashed a different color for a moment, and he smiled gruesomely. "Experimenting."

The purple medic's frame crisscrossed with electricity. His optics flashed and he went into a spasm. Prowl got up and ran to him, careful not to touch him or he would obtain some of the charge that seemed to be killing his suspect. Two other officers ran into the room to try and help him, but by then Ranger was still. Smoke was coming from various joints of his body and one of his optics was blown. The image of Ranger smiling at him was burned into his mind, like he finally won something by telling the officer his story, even though it was in bursts of shouts.

"What the frag happened to him?" said one of the cops.

"I can take a guess," Prowl uttered. He reached out to touch the medic, to make sure the short-out was over with. A few residual sparks jolted into his fingers, but that was it. "Tell your coroner to check for an obstruction in his processor."

"How do you know that?" asked the other officer.

"I've heard of a similar case. Just tell him, alright?"

When he walked out, Jazz came over to his side before any of the other officers could get in his way. To let them know to back off, he held his hand. The other cops saw the gesture and murmured to one another. Plenty of rumors and situations where partners became "partners" floated around this job. The hard part was figuring out which of the spouses was more dangerous. So they left them alone.

"Electric pulse to the processor," Jazz stated. "Sound familiar?"

"I'll get a report from their coroner tomorrow, when he's done examining."

"Ranger said they've got his family. Who's they?"

"Most likely the same people who just killed him."

"I've got a theory."

"I'd love to hear it."

"The guys behind all of this, they wanted to use Ranger to steal people, use them as experiments for bio-weaponry."

"That's a long shot."

"I ain't done. Shut up. They took Ranger's family to motivate him to do their dirty work so he'd get the blame for it. He'd tip them off about where his patients lived, since he had their records, they get kidnapped, tested on. That's why he kept screaming they made him do it and it wasn't his fault. Now, some may have escaped, the ones that go crazy, or some didn't survive and got thrown into the street. And some may still be in the hands of the mad scientists."

"Do you know how crazy you sound?"

"I'm right! I know I am! I've got a knack for figuring out people's lives! You said so yourself. So, to make sure Ranger didn't blab about it, they put that chip in his processor in case he did exactly what just happened back there and short him out."

Prowl sighed, trying to process all of this. If Jazz was right, he would need to log it in.

As if reading his mind, Jazz said, "Shouldn't you be writing this down, detective?"

"How about you come to my place and log it all in, since you figured it out?"

"Excuse me?"

"I keep records of what I find out in my computer at home. Since you're keen on all of the details, you should type it in. I'd probably forget half of it by the time I get back."

Jazz grinned. "You're asking me to sleep over?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're thinking it."

"No, I'm not!"

"Okay, okay! Cool your engine, officer. I'm just teasing. You know how I am."

"I know exactly how you are, _agent_."

"Oh, you caught that, huh?" he chuckled. "Yeah, _Agent _Jazz sounds much better than _Officer _Jazz, don't you think? Anyway, since you didn't say it, can I sleep over? My room becomes a boring sight when you're used to it. Even seeing the gardens makes me cranky. I don't think that's the purpose of a garden."

"Sure, you can stay over. Just let your boss know so he doesn't chew me out." He paused for a moment. "By the way, what's your boss's name, anyway?"

"No one knows, really. And hardly any of us see his face. He's just a big shadow in the corner of the room, with narrow red optics. We call 'im Shadow Walker. Always in the dark. You ever heard of a vampire?"

"No, but I have this queer feeling you're going to tell me what it is."

"It's a vitals sucker. It creeps around in the dark, steers clear of the light, jumping stray people on the street to feed on their energon. No one knows where they come from but they say the first of them was sculpted from Unicron's tooth, hence the nice pair of fangs they've got to puncture your derma and slurp from your arteries."

"That's a bunch of slag."

"Sure is, but it's fun to scare kids with that kind of story. Gets 'em home before curfew even pulls through."

"And you think your boss… Shadow Walker… is a vampire?"

"Freaks me out enough to make me think that."

"How do you get an interview with the guy if you can't even see him face to face?"

Jazz visor flickered and his mouth slanted.

"Just curious, that's all."

They walked out of the building and Prowl yanked his hand free from Jazz's grip. Both of them agreed, without speaking, to walk for some time. The city was a little more peaceful in this area, with the police station being in close proximity.

"Well, officer, that all depends on who you talk to. In my experience I teased with security. They must've recommended me or something, because when I came back they said Shadow Walker wanted to meet me. They pulled me into this dark room, a little stage with a pole and one spotlight. I couldn't see the boss. He was just a pair of optics in the dark, staring up at me. I guess that was my audition. And I got the job."

"Pretty strange way to get an interview."

"Now you spill it, Prowler." He shoved him in the arm. "How'd you get a job as a cop when you're supposed to be an artisan?"

"I have Surge to thank for that. He was a friend of the family. He told my alpha he could pull a few strings to get me into the Police Academy of Praxus and he agreed. After all, my alpha knew I didn't want to do what he did. He always respected that about me. The sheriff talked to a few people, I was given a written examination to prove myself, and I made it."

"Guess I should be nicer 'round the old fart, huh?"

Prowl chuckled. "He's not _that _old."

"Old enough for me to make fun of."

"Old enough for him to sling you into a wall should you call him that."

"Nah, 'cause then my vampire boss'll be on his aft an' suck out his energon."

Jazz put both hands on the side of his face and pointed his fingers down, making a growling noise and nibbling on Prowl's shoulder. Both of them laughed. For the first time in a long while, Prowl felt comfortable around someone, and it pleased Jazz even more that he could turn this sour authority figure into a casual conversationalist.

xXx

I said appropriate, right? A death and a vampire. What more could you want on Halloween?

My Halloween was great. I dressed up in a black morphsuit, put on dress pants, collared shirt, and a jacket and called myself a Slenderwoman. (If I had chosen white, you would've totally seen my face and hair, so I went for black and pretended the female slends are black, which everyone in the neighborhood played along with.) I scared a few kids. And white parents don't seem to care about costumes, because the black parents certainly gave me good compliments.

So doing that again next year.


End file.
